


Bilbo Baggins and the Arkenstone

by Fluoradine



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon relationships go to shame, De-Aged Characters, Harry Potter AU, Many thanks to name generator websites for all the extra names, Other, Still set in Middle-Earth, also lots of OCs sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 131,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluoradine/pseuds/Fluoradine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone AU for The Hobbit. Young Bilbo has lived a quiet (yet miserable) life in Hobbiton with his Aunt Lobelia. But soon ravens start showing up with letters addressed to him that his aunt is quick to get rid of, sending his once-ordinary life into a mix of confusion, excitement, and nervousness. Soon he'll find out that he isn't as ordinary as he thought he was, and'll be whisked off into far-off places filled with magic, strange creatures, charmed objects, and everything out-of-the-ordinary. But with his friends by his side, Bilbo is sure he can take on anything this new world has to throw at him...even if it's a secret and powerful stone hidden in his school...</p><p>*note: this story is also published on Wattpad, so if you see it there, that's still me, don't freak out*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The House at the Bottom Of The Hill

The night was warm, and the air was filled with the smell of ash. Soot had filled the air far and wide across the West, and had darkened all skies. Even as far away from the fire as Hobbiton, many were confused as to why the normally blue sky was filled with clouds of black smoke. Some even wandered outside to stare westward at where it had all come from, some even climbing on rooftops to see if they could get a better glimpse of what had happened in the distance. Few remained inside, and few were calm. There had been a great fire in the West, setting the entirety of another Hobbit residence ablaze.  
  
Gandalf stood outside the house at the bottom of the hill. Its lights were off, and no noise came from inside it, much like the other houses at the bottom of Hobbiton. They could not see the smoke as well as those on top could. For all Gandalf knew, they could be completely clueless as to what all the ruckus was about. The old wizard had arrived in Hobbiton only half an hour ago, as he was on the road towards The Shire already when he received word of the great fire and what had happened at the Baggins house. He made way for Hobbiton as soon as he was informed, and was now waiting outside the house at the bottom of the hill, where the Sackville-Bagginses lived. He had never been to this place before, and only knew about it from his fellow wizards words. Many of the residents on top of the large hill that Hobbiton was were already out of bed and staring off at the distant flames. Gandalf would make no motions to reassure them of anything. Hobbits were very short-minded, and they would all soon be back in their houses, making their next meal, with no worries about the West at all.  
  
Gandalf struck up a flame and lit his pipe. How long would it take for Elrond to arrive, he wondered as he sat down on a large rock just beside the door. They surely knew of what had happened, as Gandalf had received word from the Elf’s patronus swan about the fire. Surely, he would bring the child? No, Elrond could not leave one so important in a burning house, not after what was laid out for him. Gandalf blew a smoke ring and watched it fly through the air as he thought of all the precautions they had taken. After Galadriel’s prophecy, they could not have let it rest. Smaug had been gaining more power with each and every day, and their only hope was a halfling child in the West, not old enough to walk, let alone banish a dragon. Gandalf took another smoke of his pipe as he thought of the Baggins household now, most likely nothing but ashes among ashes, all its insides turned to soot by the dragon. He wondered if The Shire had been able to see it flying towards them in the night. Gandalf laughed as he wondered what had become of the great and powerful Smaug now. Perhaps their hope had worked after all.  
  
A rustle came from behind one of the shrubs lining the Sackville-Baggins house. Gandalf took his eyes off of his latest smoke ring, and peered at the shrub. It did not shake or move, yet the unmistakeable sound of leaves rustling came from behind it. The wizard put away his pipe into his robes, and stood from the rock he had been sitting on. Slowly, he took steps towards the small green shrub as it continued to rustle its leaves quietly. Gandalf stooped down to look behind the leaves. There appeared to be nothing there at all.  
  
The wizard sighed, and stood up from looking through the shrub. He took out his pipe and lit it again. “There’s no need for hiding, Elrond. I know you’re there. Put away the rabbit and come out.”  
  
The shrub gave a final rustle, and out jumped a large brown rabbit. It stood in front of the bush for a moment, twitching its nose and looking around, before taking a great leap to the other side of the house and disappearing. The second it went behind the house an Elf stepped out, putting his wand back into his robe sleeve and scowling. “Why must you always see through my spells, old friend?”  
  
Gandalf chuckled as he blew yet another smoke ring. “You are the one who chose to distract me instead of facing me, Elrond. The ever-popular rustling leaves distraction. You must have known I would have seen through it.” He put his pipe back into his robes. “Charming, yet amateur.”  
  
Elrond scowled yet again. He walked to where Gandalf was standing, and stared out into the sky. “The fire has been put out. I have seen to it. The survivors have been taken back to Rivendell. My people will deal with this as best they can.”  
  
“Wonderful.” Gandalf said, staring into the sky. He dropped his voice and looked at the Elf. “And the dragon?”  
  
Elrond stiffened his back. “Gone. There is no body in the Shire that we could see. He seems to have vanished.” he said to the sky.  
  
Gandalf nodded. He then turned back to look up the hill to where the Hobbits were standing. He had been right, most of them had returned back into their houses. Only children and a few female Hobbits remained outside. “I received your message about the Bagginses.”  
  
“I assumed that was why you were here.” Elrond replied. He stared at the yellow round door, a quaint entrance to the house. His face was full of worry. “Though I do not know whether here is the best place anymore.”  
  
“Where else would he go?” Gandalf asked the Elf. “I know of Lobelia. I know she is not the kindest soul. I also know that she is perfectly capable of taking care of a child for eleven years. The halfling will not need to be here forever. It is only to be safe.”  
  
Elrond grabbed the sleeve of the wizard. “He cannot grow up here. These Hobbits, they are…” He searched for the words to describe the creatures. “narrow-minded. Anything that happens, they pass off within a day. They will have no idea who he is, nor know to keep him safe.”  
  
“Speaking of the halfling, where is he?” Gandalf asked, Elrond dropping the wizard's sleeve. “Surely you did not leave him there?”  
  
Elrond frowned. “You insult me. Beorn is on his way as we speak, with the halfling. I did not think it wise to trust him with such a thing…”  
  
“Friend, you do not trust many.” Gandalf said. “Confide in me, now. If Beorn has been told to bring him here, he will do so.”  
  
“You trust him?” Elrond asked.  
  
Gandalf smiled. “I would trust Beorn with my very life.”  
  
The two stood at the bottom of the hill in silence, staring out at the night sky. They waited patiently for a sign of something coming.  
  
“You should have seen the Shire, friend.” Elrond said quietly, breaking the silence. “You would not have recognized it. Nearly everything is burnt to ash. Even the trees. And the Baggins house…it was the only thing that still looked like a home. Everything else was gone.”  
  
“I understand that this is upsetting for you, Elrond.” the wizard said. “There was nothing we could do. All we can do now is make sure that the child stays safe.”  
  
Elrond nodded. Just then, the sound of pounding feet came from across the ground. Both Elrond and Gandalf looked up just in time to see a large bear running towards them at full speed, with a bundle hanging from its mouth. The two did not run from it, instead they stayed exactly where they stood. The bear neared them and began to slow, coming to a full stop just before the gate of the Sackville-Baggins house. It dropped the large bundle onto the ground softly, and stood up on its hind legs. Before their eyes, the bear began to change its form, growing feet and hands before a body lastly, and appearing as a rather tall man with scruffy clothes and dirty hair. He coughed before picking up the bundle again.  
  
Gandalf smiled. “Good to be seeing you, Beorn. I trust you did your job well.”  
  
“Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t, then, would I?” he said to them, walking closer. He pushed the gate aside and stepped into the lawn, holding out the bundle for Gandalf to take. “I arrived quick as I could. I'm surprised the fire hasn’t spread to here.”  
  
Gandalf took the bundle in his arms. “Lord Elrond has already seen to that. Thank you for you work.”  
  
Beorn nodded. “He’s a quiet one, that halfling is. Didn’t make a sound all the way here. Pretty sure he fell asleep just as we crossed over the river.”  
  
Gandalf walked to the yellow door. He placed the bundle down at the foot of it. “He was always meant to be great. I hope he will live up to that promise.”  
  
“He will never know of that here.” Elrond said. “These people have no magic in their blood. What happens in eleven years, when he knows nothing of his legacy?”  
  
Gandalf stood up. “I am sure, when the time comes, he will be ready to understand.”  
  
A cough came from Beorn. Gandalf turned to see him staring sadly at the ground. “Come now, Beorn. It’s not goodbye.”  
  
Beorn shook his head, hair frizzing out as he did so. “It’s not that. It’s…The Shire, Gandalf. It will never be the same again. And Belladonna. She’s gone with the place as well.”  
  
Gandalf nodded slowly. “I know. What has happened tonight has been horrible in many ways, some of which we will never know, at least, not now. But now, we are doing all that we can. And you are forgetting, there is one thing to celebrate. We will no longer live in fear of Smaug the Terrible.”  
  
Elrond nodded. He took out a scroll of parchment and handed it to Gandalf. “We can only hope he will remain safe.”  
  
The wizard placed the scroll on top of the bundle. “Yes, indeed, that is all we can do.” He stood up, and smiled at the bundle. “He will need all the luck in the world. Good luck, Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
And the three left through the gate to the Sackville-Baggins house. Of course, none of them would know anything else that would happen to young Bilbo after they left him there. They would not know of the loud shriek Lobelia Sackville-Baggins let out when she stepped out for a pipe and saw a child lying on her doorstep. They wouldn't know what she felt when she read the note that informed her of everything that had happened the previous night, nor would they know of how Bilbo would grow up inside the house at the bottom of the hill miserable, with his Aunt always chasing him around and never letting him have proper fun. But that would all come later. All that was happening now was that Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits alike all over middle-earth were raising their glasses full of ale, with sorrow for The Shire and with a loud following cry of “To Bilbo Baggins! The bravest of them all!”


	2. Hobbits and Ravens

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was a very respectable Hobbit, thank you very much. Every morning when she woke up, she’d make herself a breakfast of toast, eggs, and biscuits, and after she was finished eating, she would go outside for a morning smoke of her pipe. Soon after, she’d have her second breakfast, and read the mail if there was any. She would do the laundry just before lunch and tend to her garden afterwards, and the rest of the day was hers to plan. Nothing unexpected had ever happened to her, no, she was a very calm and strong-rooted soul. The adventurous one in her family had always been her sister, Belladonna.  
  
Belladonna Baggins had moved to The Shire, a quaint little Hobbit town in the West, and gotten married to an adventurer like herself. Goodness, Lobelia never liked that Took boy. He was always telling stories of the world outside of Hobbiton and The Shire, going on and on about how he’d once ridden all the way out to Rivendell and seen Elves at their business. He always said he could have stayed there forever. ‘Good,’ Lobelia had thought. ‘why didn’t you?’ Even though Lobelia made it very clear to her sister that she thought he would do her no good whatsoever, Belladonna had moved out westward to a home at the top of a hill, while Lobelia remained alone in her house at the bottom of one. They never wrote to each other, never bothered to make trips to see the other, and it was almost like neither existed to each other. Until ten years ago, when Lobelia had woken up to do her regular morning smoke after breakfast and found a bundle with what seemed to be a Hobbit child wrapped up in it, along with a note that said that this was Belladonna’s son, and that Lobelia was to take care of him until further notice. Lobelia was in all ways, appalled, shocked, upset, and angry at whoever had left this baby here at her door. What nerve they must have had, coming to her door in the middle of the night and dropping off her now-dead sister’s child, telling her to raise it with no explanation whatsoever!  
  
But, Lobelia was a respectable Hobbit, and respectable Hobbits never leave another without help. So Lobelia did indeed raise the child, who the letter said was named Bilbo Baggins, and had been doing so for a good ten years. The boy was nothing special, in fact, he was quite the opposite. His feet were smaller than average, and his hair was always messy. Not to mention the fact that he had a horrible feather-shaped scar on his forehead that looked like someone had hit him with an axe and forgotten to take it out. Lobelia tried her best to keep Bilbo inside and away from neighbours, who might think her no longer respectable for having a child inside her house all on her own. She fed him and kept him as healthy as she could, gave him clothes to wear (though the clothes were generally old and much too large or too small for the always-growing Bilbo), and made him do all his chores, just like any parent would and as her mother had done to her. And there was nothing strange about it at all.  
  
If you ever asked Bilbo himself what he thought of his life, if Lobelia were not around, it is likely he would reply with nothing short of a grumble and a sigh, followed by a short explanation of how he would much like to change all of it. He had spent all of his ten years of life inside a small house on the bottom of a hill, where the sun was always out, yet he saw little to none of the beautiful sunshine. His bedroom was an empty pantry cupboard underneath the stairs, which was quite cramped to sleep in. The most interesting thing that had happened to Bilbo in his life had been the one time the wind blew away a load of laundry he was supposed to be hanging up, and he had had to climb down the hill to retrieve it. Bilbo knew that this neighbourhood was often quite lively, with children playing outside from morning until nightfall, with women always chattering away about the newest gossip (none of which he knew the details of), and the men selling goods and antiques in large coats no matter the weather. Bilbo thought if he saved up enough pocket coins he might be able to buy something from them one day. But he never got to, because Lobelia found them first and used the money for a new crochet tablecloth, the purpose of which Bilbo didn’t understand, and still doesn’t today. Why his Aunt would rather buy a tablecloth with holes in it than use the money on some new clothes for Bilbo, maybe an overcoat for once, or some suspenders. But the young Hobbit had gotten used to life always going the way he didn’t want it to.  
  
Bilbo sometimes missed his parents, even though he never knew them. Aunt Lobelia had told him that they had died in a carting accident involving sharp silver stirrups when he was a baby, and that was why he lived with her. That was also how she had explained the scar across his forehead. The scar he had was the reason why he had refused for Aunt Lobelia to cut his bangs off, no matter how much she thought it made him look scruffy. His scar was right smack in the middle of his forehead, not overly red but prominent all the same, and it was in the shape of a bird’s feather. Lobelia said that he had been scraped by one of the irons of the stirrups when his parents had died and it just turned out to look that way. When Bilbo was younger, he would pretend that he had received it from an Eagle. He never told Aunt Lobelia about his fantasies, most of which involved leaving the house at the bottom of the hill and seeing what Hobbiton really looked like. Bilbo knew his aunt disapproved of his adventurous ideas. “Adventures are nasty, disturbing, dirty little things. They’re dangerous, and’ll make you late for your dinner.” she would scowl when she’d see his face after he’d been outside, most often pretending he was a fierce traveller, riding around Hobbiton and never having to obey his aunt.  
  
But Bilbo had grown up since then, and he had grown into a very respectable Hobbit, just like his Aunt. By the time he was ten, which is what he is now, he could make polite conversation with some of Lobelia’s friends before being rushed off to his room, where he often drew pictures of some of the people downstairs. Bilbo prided himself in his drawing skills, though he knew Aunt Lobelia would rather he knew how to plant flowers or prune shrubs. He would have been happy to work in the garden, except for that one shrub next to the house that kept rustling all the time which made him nervous to go near it with pruning spears. Lobelia often did the garden work herself, complaining that “I have a child in the house, and what use is he if not to do his work around here?” Bilbo sometimes wanted to tell Lobelia that he did more than his fair share of work in the Sackville-Baggins house, but never did say anything. Bilbo Baggins was respectable, and never wanted to cause more trouble than he was worth.  
  
It was a warm summer morning when Bilbo woke up in his pantry cupboard underneath the stairs. Aunt Lobelia was rapping on his door.  
  
“Get up.” she said shrilly into the keyhole. “It’s a quarter past seven, there’s no need for you to be sleeping.”  
  
Bilbo groaned, and rolled over onto his stomach. He had been having a very strange dream indeed. He had been wandering around what seemed to be an very old and deserted castle, looking for something he could now not recall. All throughout the dream he had the feeling something was following him as he walked through the castle. What it meant, Bilbo didn’t know, and had no time to ponder on it. He sat up, ducking his head so as to miss the low-hanging board just above. Quickly, he got out of his bedclothes and pulled on a large robe before pushing open the pantry door with a creak.  
  
Aunt Lobelia was waiting in the kitchen, as per usual. She was wearing her yellow frocked dress, along with her large sunhat. It was a summer’s gardening day, Bilbo thought as he looked at her sharp face and eyes. No doubt Aunt Lobelia would be working on her flowers outside this morning.  
  
Bilbo walked to the stocked pantry to grab plates of biscuits and a few boiled eggs, careful not to trip over the low hem of the old bathrobe. He took out a couple rolls and the biscuits and the butter. He tried to grab an apple, but couldn’t reach for it with his hands already full.  
  
Lobelia reached out for a roll as Bilbo set the plates down on the kitchen table quietly. “Such a bright morning. Nearly blinded myself just by opening up the drapes.” she said, buttering her roll. “Never matter, I’ll be outside doing my gardening just the same. I expect you to be helping me, you know.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. He went back to the pantry to get a few apples, this time nearly tripping over the hem. He wondered if the pantry door squeaking would be deemed “something for you to do today” by Lobelia.  
  
“I’ve got a list of housework you’ll need to be doing today.” Lobelia told him as he placed the apples on the table, snatching one out of his hand he had planned to put in his pantry bedroom for later. “I’ve got guests coming over tomorrow. Don’t want anyone walking into any cobwebs again. Don’t you think I’ve forgotten that. Could you get the juice?”  
Bilbo nodded again, and went back to the pantry to get the mug of juice Aunt Lobelia had asked for.  
  
“Rhoda Stumbletoe is wondering where her invitation to Adelhaid Puddlefoot’s summer garden party is.” Lobelia scowled. “Like she would be invited, the cow. Everyone knows she’s always taking food from everyone’s pantry. She’s not welcome in my house, mind.” Bilbo set the mug down on the table, and went to sit at the other end. He grabbed himself a roll and an apple. He didn’t say anything he knew of Lobelia’s habit of taking silverware from parties she was invited to. Their silver spoon drawer was rather large, and showed no signs of shrinking any time soon. “You would think, she’d have gotten the hint that no one wants her in their houses anymore.” Lobelia continued, taking a bite of an apple. “We’ve already got to worry about saving food for the winter, never mind having to save it from grubby hands like hers.” She looked at Bilbo with her piercing stare. Obviously, in her opinion, Bilbo should care about Rhoda Stumbletoe and her habits of stealing food. The young Hobbit felt otherwise. “And why is it that we need to worry even more about saving our crops and food?”  
  
Bilbo swallowed his bite of roll. “Wild geese.” he said.  
  
Lobelia nodded. “Wild geese. Those ridiculous creatures, waddling around our gardens, pecking at the crops and ruining them. I’ve tried talking to Fairfoot about it, but he doesn’t listen.” Aunt Lobelia was off again on her rants about the local geese. They were known by everyone who owned a garden to be “rampaging destroyers with no respect at all”, including Lobelia. She took a gulp of juice. “By now, I should be able to harpoon them myself. if no one plans to do something about them.” She put the mug back down on the table, with a little too much angry force, causing it to fall off the table. “Oh, blast!” she said, sighing. Bilbo stood to go and get the washcloth from the sink, but Lobelia shook her head. “No, I’ll take care of this. You, go and get the mail.” She pointed towards the door. Bilbo nodded, and headed off down the hall.  
  
The day was, indeed, very bright out. Bilbo had to squint as he opened the yellow round door to get to the mailbox. The paint on the door was chipping. That would surely be on Lobelia’s to-do list. He stepped quickly out onto the wet grass, feeling the bottom of his robe getting damp as he walked to the mailbox next to the gate. The gate was also chipped in places. Luckily, the wooden mailbox was not. It was just as sturdy as always. A small raven had taken perch on top of it, and was currently pecking at the post it stood on.  
  
Bilbo waved his hand at it. “Shoo. Go on, get out.” he said. The raven did not move from it’s perch. Instead, it pecked at his waving hand. Bilbo gave a short yelp, and the raven flew off. “I think I understand why Lobelia hates birds so much.” Bilbo muttered as he opened the mailbox door and took out five envelopes.  
  
As he walked back to the door, he read the addresses on each letter. The first was from a Piligrim Dewfoot, written in black ink on a piece of parchment with quite a few stains on it. The second was from a postcard from a Sunno Bolger, saying something about how Lobelia should have paid for that new sundress by now. Bilbo doubted she ever would. The third was a tightly sealed envelope with no return address except the initials G.G, and the letters BM. Bilbo thought nothing of it, and tucked it behind the other ones. The fourth was from Adelhaid Puddlefoot herself, which Bilbo had no interest in at all, except the fact that her handwriting was very neat. He tucked that one behind as well, and looked at the last one.  
  
He stopped in his tracks just before the door. He had to re-read the receiving address again. This letter was not addressed to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, instead, it was addressed to him. The letter read, in deep green ink:  
  
Mr Bilbo Baggins  
The Pantry Cupboard  
The House at the Bottom Of The Hill  
Hobbiton  
  
Bilbo did not believe it. Surely, this must be a joke from Aunt Lobelia. Who else would know that he slept in a pantry cupboard? He didn't know of anyone else who would write to him. Bilbo opened the door to the house as he re-read the address on the letter. There was no return address. He turned the letter over. On the back was a seal, crimson red, that had a crest on it. This made Bilbo very confused indeed. No one official would be sending him a letter. Surely it must be a trick. Bilbo continued to stare at the seal as he walked into the kitchen, where Lobelia was wiping up the spilt juice. He put the other four letters down at his aunt’s plate, and sat down with his.  
  
“What’s that you’re holding?” Lobelia asked him. When Bilbo did not answer, she reached over and grabbed it out of his hands.  
  
“No, wait, that’s mine!” Bilbo exclaimed, reaching out to take it back. But Lobelia simply moved out of his reach. “It’s addressed to me.”  
  
Lobelia laughed shrilly. “You? Who would be writing to you?” She continued to laugh as she began to read the address. Her laughter stopped as she read the first line. Bilbo watched as his aunt’s face began to go pale as she turned the letter over and laid eyes on the crested seal. Quickly, she turned to him, eyes angry and narrow.  
  
“Who’s this from?” she asked, her tone sharp. “Go back to your bedroom! Don’t go back out!”  
  
Bilbo quickly rose from his chair. “Can I at least read what it says?”  
  
“No!” Lobelia shouted. And in a second, she ripped it in half, envelope and all. “This wasn’t for you. There must have been a sending mistake. Now get back to your room.”  
  
Bilbo sadly turned from the table, and went back to his pantry. The door creaked as he pulled it open. “And fix that door!” came Lobelia's shout from the kitchen.  
  
Bilbo slumped down onto the wall. What was inside that letter? Lobelia had definitely known what it was, why else would she be shouting? But she had said that it was a mistake. Bilbo shook his head. It couldn’t have been a mistake. It clearly said Bilbo Baggins, the pantry cupboard, the house at the bottom of the hill, Hobbiton. That was where he he lived, right? So how could it have been a mistake? Well, now he would never find out. Bilbo tried not to think about it, and instead picked up a quill and began to draw. 

  


The next day, Bilbo awoke again to Aunt Lobelia knocking on his pantry door. As it turned out, Aunt Lobelia had done all of the housework needed for her party by herself, and doing so prevented herself from planting the new tulips she had wanted. And as usual, she blamed Bilbo for it, as she told him at breakfast. Bilbo asked if he could go and get the mail again, wanting to see if there was any more strange letters there for him. But Lobelia told him she had already gotten the mail, and there was nothing for him there, as per usual. Bilbo couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He had hoped he would get another chance to read what was inside the letter. Lobelia gave him the list of the extra housework that would have to be done, which included watering the plants outside the house, repainting the gate, washing the good dishes, and making sure none of the knives were blunt. Bilbo was glad he wouldn’t have to be inside all day, and that he now had an excuse to check the mailbox himself.  
  
Bilbo got dressed properly and took out the can of white paint and the watering can to go and do his outdoor chores. As he walked over to the gate, he noticed there was a raven on top of the mailbox again. Looking down, he saw two more underneath it, flapping their wings and squawking. This time Bilbo didn’t hurry to shoo them away, instead, he opened up the door to the mailbox, trying to keep his fingers away from the raven. Putting his hand inside, he pulled out three envelopes, and as he did, the birds flew away. To his surprise, they all had the same address on them: Mr Bilbo Baggins, the pantry cupboard, the house at the bottom of the hill, Hobbiton. Whoever was sending these letters must have known he hadn’t gotten their first one. Bilbo looked around shiftily, and put the letters into his back pocket. He would read them once he got inside.  
  
But when he finished painting over the gate, and went inside to return the bucket of paint, Lobelia noticed the letters sticking out of his back pocket. “Give me those.” she demanded as he turned to go back outside. Bilbo reluctantly handed over the letters and had to watch as his aunt ripped them up and threw them into the fire, promptly sending him back to his pantry for the rest of the day. Bilbo didn’t mind as much being sent to his pantry than he minded still not being able to read the letters that were clearly addressed to him. 

  


So he was as much surprised as when he woke up the next day not to Lobelia knocking on his pantry door, but to the sound of a crackling fire in the sitting room. Intrigued, Bilbo left his pantry, silently thankful Lobelia had oiled the door, and tiptoed to the sitting room. There he saw Lobelia, muttering under her breath about “blasted ravens” and that “these people won’t give up, will they?” Looking behind his aunt, Bilbo saw five envelopes in the flames, slowly being swallowed up. Lobelia appeared to be tossing more in. She said nothing at all during breakfast, instead grumbling and eating quite a lot of boiled eggs. Bilbo didn’t ask of how her party had gone yesterday, mainly because he didn’t want to disturb her and cause her to become angry, but also because he didn’t really care. Lobelia did not tend to her garden that day, instead spending her time a board on top of the mail slot in the yellow door, as Bilbo washed dishes and sneaked cookies from the pantry. While he did his work, he glanced out the window and saw five ravens perched on top of a chimney. Bilbo got a sense that the ravens had something to do with the letters arriving.  
  
His suspicions were confirmed the next day, when he awoke to Lobelia shrieking outside. He ran to the window, not bothering to change out of his bedclothes, and saw that his aunt was outside chasing away a flock of ravens with a broom. Bilbo couldn’t contain his laughter when he saw her in her dainty sundress and large hat, shouting multiple profanities at a flock of birds with the neighbours all watching her on their front lawns. Soon he was howling with laughter, sliding halfway down the wall, tears running down his eyes. Bilbo had not laughed like this for a very long time, the last time he did not remember when it had happened or what had caused it. The young Hobbit didn’t care, and quickly rushed back to his pantry giggling when Lobelia came back to the house carrying what looked like fifteen letters, all with addresses written in green ink. He knew that sooner or later, no matter how much Lobelia would try to stop it, he would read one of those letters.  
  
It went on like this for the next three days. Bilbo would wake up to see that Lobelia had already gotten the mail and burned up the envelopes in the fireplace (which Bilbo thought would be in need of some new firewood soon), despite her never saying anything about it. If he was lucky, Bilbo would catch a glimpse of a few ravens flying around outside while he was doing his chores, and if any of the work involved going outside he would be able to check the mailbox once more (though he never did find anything in it). He stopped fearing the ravens when he saw them perched around, and instead got a feeling of hope inside him whenever he saw one. Aunt Lobelia of course, dwindled down the number of chores he got to do outside in fear that he would find a letter she had missed, but Bilbo didn’t give up hoping. What was in those letters, anyways? Whatever it was, it had to be important. Whoever was sending them would have given up by now if they weren’t.  
  
Sunday came around, and Bilbo had still not gotten a glimpse of what were inside those letters. He woke up quite peacefully in the morning, ready to go and see the ravens outside this morning, but then he remembered: there was no post delivered on Sundays. Bilbo’s heart immediately sank when he remembered this fact, and he lost his motivation to get out of bed. He would not have left if it hadn’t been for the smell of pork and sausages wafting from the kitchen that dragged him out of the pantry bedroom.  
  
Aunt Lobelia was sitting at the head of the table, plates of sausages, rolls, apples, and jam around her. She looked quite pleased with herself as Bilbo went into the pantry to get out the juice and eggs and placed them at the table.  
  
“My, what a fine day, Sunday.” she sighed happily as Bilbo sat down, taking some sausages and rolls. “In my opinion, it’s the best day of the week.”  
  
Bilbo sat in silence, eating a sausage. Lobelia looked happy as a clam, and Bilbo thought, “She must have gone mad. She’s been so concerned with those letters, now that they’re not coming, she has no idea what to do.”  
  
“Why do you think I like Sunday so much, Bilbo?” she asked him in a high voice.  
  
“Because there’s no post on Sundays.” Bilbo mumbled into a roll.  
  
“Right you are, Bilbo!” Lobelia exclaimed. “There’s no post on Sunday. None of those blasted letters at my door today! Finally, I can get back to my gardening in peace!”  
  
Lobelia continued to laugh as Bilbo took another bite of sausage. Just then, Bilbo heard a caw from outside the kitchen window. He lifted his head and craned his neck to see outside. He very nearly gasped when he caught sight of what was on the lawn. Nearly fifty ravens, if not more, had perched on the grass outside of the Sackville-Baggins house. Bilbo stood up out of his chair to get a better look, and saw that there were at least fifty more around the front of the house. Lobelia took no notice of him standing to see, and kept laughing about “no post on Sundays” while eating her breakfast. Bilbo couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The usual bright green grass was covered in black ravens of all sizes, large and small, loud and quiet, some with dots and marks and some pure dark. Suddenly, Bilbo heard a pecking noise of the other side of the house. Without stopping to wonder what it was, he rushed to the sitting room, ignoring his aunt’s calling of “Where do you think you’re going?” The letters were coming, Sunday or not.  
  
Aunt Lobelia had stopped laughing, and was walking down the hall towards the sitting room. The pecking got louder as Bilbo got closer to the fireplace. The door began to rattle and Lobelia came further down the hall. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked as she came into the sitting room, face now hard and narrow once more. Bilbo did not turn to face her, instead he stood in front of the fireplace, the pecking now very loudly echoing inside the house.  
  
But before Lobelia could say anything to punish Bilbo, the very house began to shake. Bilbo jumped back from the fireplace as the first letter came whooshing out and landed right in the seat of the red armchair. Lobelia had no time to begin shouting about letters, though Bilbo saw her face turn a deep shade of purple and saw her open her mouth, because letters started flying out of the fireplace, gusting up into the air and around the room. Bilbo stood, amazed, as the letters continued to whoosh out of the fireplace to all around, all with addresses written in green ink. More started flying in from the windows as Lobelia began to shriek and Bilbo began laughing once more, for they were everywhere. All over the floor, atop chairs and mantlepieces, sliding in from under the door, flying around like parchment birds and creating what looked like a letter storm. The house was shaking and the pecking was loud enough to make the neighbours come out of their houses, and Bilbo heard the wooden board pop off of the mail slot, allowing more to flood in and spread through the house.  
  
Lobelia was terrified, yet Bilbo was ecstatic. He grabbed as many flying letters as he could and began to run with them back to his pantry, but was grabbed by Lobelia in the doorway. She pried them out of his hand, but Bilbo did not let go. “These are mine! They’re addressed to me! They all are!”  
  
But Lobelia continued to pull on the letters as Bilbo fell onto the floor with the house shaking. “No they’re not! You can’t have those!” She too fell on the floor and pushed away as many letters as she could from Bilbo’s reach as she kept trying to pry them out of his hands. But Bilbo was determined to get them, and held on as tightly as he could. Lobelia ripped up the letters surrounding them as the flow continued from the fireplace and door, and no sooner had grabbed Bilbo by the arm and pulled him up off the floor. With a powerful grab, she grabbed the letters out of Bilbo’s hand, and began to drag him to the door. “We’re going away! We have to get away!” she shouted as she opened the door. “For as long as possible!”  
  
Bilbo staggered to his feet as Lobelia ran with him, pulling him out onto the lawn. She shrieked at the remaining ravens on the lawn and ran as quickly as her big feet could take her. Bilbo did not try and stop his aunt, instead, he clung onto her arm in fear of falling into the dirt and grass. Lobelia did not look back as she ran out of the gate and down the dirt road, instead, she muttered to herself “Get away, get far away, where they can’t find us”. She ran, dragging Bilbo with her past all the houses and down to the end of the lane where a cart was parked, its pony tied up to a tree. Lobelia let go of Bilbo and grabbed a saddle from inside the cart. She plunked it down and did it up, all the while Bilbo watching, not daring to run back to the house. Once it was done up, she unhooked the cart from the pony and shortened up the reins. Lobelia grabbed Bilbo again and picked him up, surprising Bilbo in many ways. She plunked him down on the pony’s rear, and she herself got on the horse. Bilbo had barely any time to cling onto the saddle when Lobelia gave the pony a smack and they took off down the lane. 

  


Bilbo had so many questions, none of which of course he would be able to answer anytime soon, because Lobelia was now truly mad, stealing a pony and galloping away on it. Bilbo looked back as they passed the gates to Hobbiton, trying to get a glimpse of the house at the bottom of the hill. He clung on for dear life as Lobelia continued to press the pony forward, into the forest and off the roads. Bilbo had no idea where they were going, and he didn’t know if Lobelia did either. She was whispering to herself “Shake them off, shake them off,” as they rode further and further into the day. The sun became high in the sky yet they did not stop. Their surroundings became more and more unknown, as they exited the forest and passed through farmlands and over bridges and rivers. Lobelia jumped over a few hedges and logs in their way, which was very uncomfortable for Bilbo, seeing where he was sitting. Finally, after what seemed like a week of riding through the unknown, Lobelia halted the pony and got off. It was nearly sundown as far as Bilbo could tell. They had stopped just before a bridge over the water, beyond it what looked like a city.  
  
“You, stay here.” she pointed at Bilbo. Bilbo did not move, and watched as his aunt began to run in the direction of the city beyond the bridge. Was this a Hobbit city? Were they even still in a Hobbit land? Bilbo did not know, and so of course, he did not move. He stayed on top of the pony as it stomped its feet and lowered its head. “It must be tired from all that galloping,” Bilbo thought to himself.  
  
A few minutes passed before Lobelia returned, holding her head high and not looking as flustered as she did before. “Good news.” she said, grabbing the pony’s reins. “There’s an inn just in this town up ahead.”  
  
“Where are we?” Bilbo asked, moving onto the saddle.  
  
“Bree.” Aunt Lobelia replied, snapping her fingers at him to indicate he should get off and walk. “A town of Men. We’ll stay here for as long as we need to.”  
  
“Why did we leave in the first place?” Bilbo asked his aunt, walking beside her.  
  
“Never you mind.” Lobelia snapped. “Just walk forward. Everything’s normal, there’s nothing to be worried about.”  
  
Bilbo, of course, knew that she was lying. But there was nothing he could do about the situation, except walk forward and hope Lobelia had at least a small idea of what she was doing. How eventful this day had been, for such respectable Hobbits.


	3. The Knock at the Door

The Inn of the Prancing Pony was a very small and dirty inn, right in the middle of the town square. Lobelia tied up the pony to a gate outside the inn, and dragged Bilbo inside very quickly, glancing in each and every direction to make sure no one was noticing that they were quite out of place. Bilbo was still confused. There had been so many letters, so many in one place, and still he hadn’t gotten to read one of them. At this point he wondered if he ever would, if the sender would just stop trying, or if the ravens would give up and stop coming. “That would be a pity.” Bilbo thought. “I’ve grown quite fond of those birds”.  
  
Bilbo attempted to stay as close as possible to his aunt as she walked to a desk with a grimy-looking man sitting behind it. Bilbo had never been this far out of Hobbiton before, goodness, even going down the lane this morning had been farther than he had ever seen from the house window. He wished they were back at home, rather than here, in a pub and inn that smelled like ale and mud. Bilbo had to try very hard to keep from coughing out of disgust.  
  
Lobelia asked the man behind the wooden desk for a room, and he handed over a key. Bilbo couldn’t see his face behind his hood, and instead looked around the pub area . Before he could see anything interesting or rather disturbing, Lobelia dragged him up the stairs, which were rotted, and into a small room with only one bed. The door creaked as they walked inside, the floor squeaked, and a strong whiff of turnips hit Bilbo as he took a deep breath for what seemed like the first time in the day. The room was dark, with nothing but an oil lamp illuminating a very-small portion of the very-small room.  
  
“We’ll stay here until we can go back.” Lobelia said, taking off her hat and tossing it onto the bed. “Get some sleep.”  
  
Bilbo looked around the room. It looked like it had not been lived in for a very long time. There were dust bunnies of unusual size in nearly every corner, and the only other furniture besides the bed was an old cabinet that looked like it might fall over if approached. “Is this what every house of men looks like?” Bilbo thought to himself.  
  
“There’s no bed.” Bilbo told his aunt.  
  
Lobelia scowled. “Then make yourself comfortable on the floor, won’t you?” And with that, she picked up the oil lamp on top of the dresser and put it out with a blow. Bilbo couldn’t see anything at all. What time was it, he wondered. The sun had lowered into the sky, yet the moon hadn’t made its appearance yet. This was all very new, and very strange to young Bilbo. He wanted nothing more than to be back at the house at the bottom of the hill, in his pantry cupboard, without any letters or ravens at all. Oh, if only none of this had happened.  
  
“Aunt Lobelia?” Bilbo asked his aunt, who was now underneath the covers of the bed in the corner. “What did you mean by, ‘until we can go back’?”  
  
But Lobelia did not answer him, for she was extremely tired from riding through Middle-Earth all day. The Hobbit woman wanted nothing more than to be back at home, much like Bilbo, without any sign of this letter business ever happening. Bilbo resigned himself, and stretched out before slinking over to the wall and lying on the cold wooden floor. “This’ll certainly be a unpleasant night.” Bilbo mumbled as he closed his eyes. Sleep couldn’t come to him, no, not now, he was too full of rush from the journey over here. Instead, the young Hobbit laid on the floor, thinking of all the possibilities that might be in that letter.  
  
Perhaps it was from another aunt of his, telling him that he was to go live with them instead. “That would be wonderful”, Bilbo thought as he tapped his fingers on the floor. Perhaps, the letters were from some sort of royalty, telling him that he was needed in their court. Bilbo laughed silently. As if it were possible. Or maybe it was an early birthday present…right, it was Bilbo’s birthday tomorrow. How could he have forgotten? He must have gotten distracted by all the commotion with the letters. He hadn’t even remembered to ask his aunt if he could have some money to buy himself a present. He wondered if they had shops in Bree. Perhaps he could buy something for himself here. Lobelia never bought him birthday present, no, she wouldn’t dream of spending money on something as trivial as her nephew’s birthday. Bilbo remembered the one year he had received something from his aunt for his birthday. She had given him a small cake that her friend Alpaide Boffin had baked for her summer festival (a leftover that no one had wanted because of its strange green colour). Bilbo had enjoyed it very much. How he wished he had one of Alpaide Boffin’s cakes right now, instead of lying on the floor of an inn that smelled like turnips.  
  
The night outside became darker, and yet Bilbo was still wide awake. Lobelia was sleeping in her bed, snoring, and at one point Bilbo got up from his uncomfortable placement on the floor, and went to sit next to the window. The moon had come out, and so had the stars to accompany it. Bilbo stared at them as the night went on, no interest in sleep whatsoever. He kept thinking of all the possibilities the letters might have had, which only made him sadder, now that he was never going to know. He would simply be stuck in Hobbiton, with his aunt, with no possibilities or adventures at all. That was how it had always been, and Bilbo knew now that that would be how it would always be.  
  
Bilbo counted the number of stars he could see in the night sky. So far he only saw nine. One of them was quite bright, and the others were very dim, and very far away. The night got darker, and Bilbo finally began to tire. He closed his eyes once more, but just as he began to, two more stars appeared in the sky. “Eleven stars. A birthday present from the sky.” Bilbo said quietly out loud as he stared at them. “Make a wish, then.”  
  
But what Bilbo wanted for his wish he would never know, because at that moment, a great BANG came from the wooden door. Bilbo jolted to full consciousness immediately, and Lobelia woke with a yelp.  
  
BANG. There it was again. Bilbo jumped onto his feet in a second, and Lobelia sat up straight. Someone was outside their room, trying to get in. Bilbo reached into his coat for a weapon of any kind, but only found little balls of lint.  
  
BANG. Another loud knock on the door. Lobelia whimpered and Bilbo suddenly felt like jumping through the window and running off into the night, but he found himself to be frozen to the spot. Lobelia got out of her bed, face pale, and shouted “Who’s there!”  
  
And the thing on the other side of the door responded with another bang, and this time it was so great it knocked the door right off its hinges. Lobelia shrieked and jumped back. Bilbo stayed right where he was, not knowing what to do.  
  
Standing in the place where the door had been was the tallest thing Bilbo had ever seen. He knew it was not a Hobbit, and had a thought that it simply could not be a man. Its hair was wild and it wore a large coat that gave a chilling feeling to Bilbo. It stepped inside the room, and its footsteps were like thunderclaps, each loud and echoing. No one else in the inn seemed to have noticed what was going on, or was coming to help them. It was then when Bilbo’s mind finally caught up with his feet, and he bolted behind the cabinet, leaving Aunt Lobelia and the giant standing face to face with each other. As Bilbo hid behind the cabinet, praying it would not fall over, the giant stopped, standing close to Lobelia. His aunt looked terrified out of her mind. Bilbo saw the giant open his mouth to speak. He brought his hands to his ears, in fear that there would be very loud shouting next.  
  
But it what the giant had to say was not at all what Bilbo had been expecting. “Sorry ‘bout that.” it grumbled. The giant stooped over, and picked up the door from where he had knocked it down, and placed it back onto the frame. It was then Bilbo saw what the thing looked like. Perhaps it was a man after all, because its facial features looked slightly normal in Bilbo’s standards. The giant’s hair made its way from the top of his head all the way down his back, and Bilbo thought that it made him look slightly like a dog.  
  
“Who are you, and what do you want with me and my nephew?” Lobelia growled at him. The giant looked back at her.  
  
“This business isn’t yours, Sackville-Baggins.” The giant said. His voice was not booming, but rather scratchy, but gave off a sense of strength all the same. Lobelia gulped, and backed away. Bilbo watched from behind the cabinet as the giant began to walk around the room, making the floorboards creak as he did so.  
  
“Now, where’s that Baggins boy?” The giant asked, peering around the room in the dark. “You certainly wouldn’t’ve left him at home, would you’ve?”  
  
Bilbo was certainly petrified, but not so much as Lobelia was, because he stood up from behind the cabinet. Indeed, the giant was very tall. He had not thought he would have to face him. “I’m Bilbo, sir, um, Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
The giant stared at him, first confused, but his face lightened to a smile as he looked at Bilbo’s shaking hands. “Well, of course you are, then!” And he looked away from Bilbo and to the oil lamp on the table. Bilbo watched, still not moving from behind the cabinet, as the giant pulled out a wooden chair and sat down on it. He peered at the oil lamp, and turned his head to Lobelia, who let out a whimper. “You don’t mind, do you?”  
  
Lobelia shook her head, unknowing of what he was asking her if she minded, and the giant took out a small axe from his coat. Bilbo went cold, and had another thought to duck behind the cabinet again, but the giant simply pointed the stick end of the axe at the oil lamp, and to Bilbo’s surprise, it lit.  
  
The giant let out a sigh, and leaned his head back on the chair, putting the axe down on the ground. This was very odd, indeed. But odd things were becoming normal now, after the eventful week Bilbo and Lobelia had just been through, so Bilbo was not as phased as a giant breaking into their room and lighting an oil lamp with an axe. The young Hobbit took a small step forward out from behind the cabinet, then another, and another, so that soon he was standing directly next to the giant on the chair. Aunt Lobelia was huddled in the corner, not daring to say a word.  
  
“Excuse me?” Bilbo asked. “But who exactly are you?”  
  
The giant scratched his neck with fingernails that looked sharp enough to tear into him. “I am Beorn. Metamorphmagus. Would've done the bear thing, except I thought that’d cause too much attention.” When Bilbo looked confused, he moved on. “I’m the games and groundskeeper at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Hogwarts?” Bilbo asked him. He had never heard of such a place. Was this person coming to take him to there? “That would’ve been nice a couple hours ago,” Bilbo thought to himself. “but now I’d rather stay here than go off somewhere with a giant.”  
  
Now it was Beorn’s turn to look confused. “I assumed you would've known all about Hogwarts by now. What, with all the letters we’ve been sending…”  
  
The letters! This is where they were from! Bilbo nearly jumped at the mention of the letters. He finally knew what they were for. But instead of jumping and clapping in excitement, he shook his head. “I haven’t read any of them.”  
  
Beorn nodded. “Oh, well, of course you haven’t. No matter.” He reached into his coat again, and pulled out an envelope with the address written in green ink. Lobelia couldn’t stop him from reading this one. Beorn handed it over to Bilbo, and the Hobbit ripped open the envelope.  
  
Inside was a piece of parchment also written with green ink. Bilbo let the envelope drop to the floor, unfolded the parchment, and began to read out loud. “Dear Mr Baggins,” he read. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment” He paused. “What do you mean I’ve been accepted? I never applied.”  
  
Beorn gave a yawn, and turned to look straight at Bilbo. “You didn’t need to. This isn’t an ordinary school, Bilbo. You have magic in your blood.”  
  
Bilbo was very confused indeed. Magic? Him? No, Lobelia was no magical being. And if she wasn’t, his parents couldn’t have been. “This must be a mistake. I’m not magic.” Bilbo said, trying to laugh off the situation.  
  
“Think about it, Bilbo. Have you ever made anything happen that you couldn’t explain? Seen strange things happen? Wished for something and found it came true?”  
  
Bilbo thought about this. He didn’t remember causing any trouble he couldn’t explain. No, he was quite respectable. There had never been anything magic in the house…but had there? Now that he thought about it, there were plenty of times he had wanted something to change and found soon later that it had. The squeaking door to his pantry cupboard had been oiled and he hadn’t done it, but he’d just thought Lobelia did that herself. And the cakes he’d gotten…did he do that too? No, those must just be coincidences.  
  
But before Bilbo could say anything against it, Lobelia had regained herself. “No.” she said promptly, walking shortly to where Bilbo was standing next to Beorn in the chair. “He’ll not be going.”  
  
Beorn turned to her. “This isn't your decision. Let him decide.”  
  
But Lobelia did not seem to think Bilbo deserved to decide at all. “You think I’d let him just run off and away from me, to go to that…” she stuttered. “you folk call it a school? My sister was enough. I swore, when I took him in from you and that…that wizard, that we’d put an end to this magic business.”  
  
“You knew?” Bilbo asked his aunt, a realization forming inside his head. He’d made things happen before that he had always played off as normal, but now seeing how Lobelia was reacting made him realize she’d knew all along. That was why she’d never let him out, because she’d seen what he’d done inside her house by himself, and wouldn’t want him showing the neighbours that he could do magic. Especially if he’d figured it out himself before… “You knew, and you never told me?”  
  
“Of course I knew.” Lobelia spat. She was shaking, either with anger or fear, Bilbo knew not. “I remember the day I found out you were just like her. What a ridiculous little child you were, always wanting what you couldn’t have and getting it anyways. I couldn’t put an end to it, cause I knew you were doing it all by yourself. Too dim to know it, you were.” Bilbo could feel himself getting angrier and angrier as his aunt went on. “Just like Belladonna. And I told him, I told that wizard I wouldn’t let this happen. I know what happens to these magic folk. They think they’re invincible, greater than all of us because they can wave a stick and make things happen. I remember the day she got her letter. Oh, my parents were so proud to have a witch in the family. But I knew better. And then she married that Took, that pompous boy, I never liked him. And good I never did, because she left with him, and they went and got themselves drowned, just like I said. Bad things always happen to magic folk.”  
  
“Drowned? You said my parents died in a cart accident.” Bilbo pressed on, feeling realization and anger clash together in his body.  
  
But before he could say more, Beorn had stood and whirled on Lobelia as well. “A carting accident?” he asked loudly and incredulously. Bilbo watched as Lobelia began to shake again, standing her ground best as she could. “A cart and pony caused the death of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins? That’s outrageous! To keep the truth from him all these years!”  
  
But Lobelia did not back down this time. “He’ll not be going. I don’t care what you say. He’s my nephew, and I will be the one deciding for him!”  
  
Beorn took a great breath, and took a long sigh. Bilbo could still see the anger in his face, just on the surface, not great enough to come spilling out. “I’ll have you know, Sackville-Baggins, that where he’s going he’ll be in good hands. He’ll be under the finest teaching of the headmaster, Gandalf the Grey, the greatest headmaster this school has ever seen.”  
  
“I won’t be paying for some old fool to teach my nephew magic tricks!” Lobelia shrieked.  
  
Beorn reached into his coat again. His face was like stone. “Listen here.” he said, and he took out a long and slender stick of wood. He pointed it at Lobelia, but she did not shift. “Never insult Gandalf in front of me.” Lobelia opened her mouth once more, but Beorn gave a wave of the stick and in a second Lobelia shrieked, pointing at the bed. Bilbo whipped round to see what had happened and nearly jumped out of his skin. A large bullfrog had appeared out on nowhere on the bed in the place Aunt Lobelia’s hat had been. It gave a croak and jumped off the bed towards Lobelia, who screamed and ran from the room, pushing the door off of the frame as she did. The frog hopped after her, and Bilbo could hear her shouts down the hall. Soon he was laughing just like he had with the ravens only a couple of days ago. Beorn was laughing as well, a scratchy, soft laugh that sounded old and croaky. He put the stick back into the his coat and turned to Bilbo. “Here. Forgot to give you this.” He reached into his coat again and pulled out a small box. How many things could he fit in there, Bilbo wondered. “Happy birthday.” He handed the box to Bilbo. Bilbo opened the lid and found inside a small cake, a strange green colour with the words “Bilbo Baggins” written on it. Had he done it again? It looked strangely familiar to Alpaide Boffin’s cake he was just thinking about.  
  
“Thank you.” he said. “How’d you know?”  
  
Beorn shook his head. “Don’t mention it. Not every day you turn eleven, is it?” And with that he walked over to the empty frame where the door had been. He picked up the axe and put it back into his coat. He turned his head towards Bilbo, ducking down to go through the door frame. “Unless you’d rather stay, of course.”  
  
But Bilbo would have liked nothing better than to leave and go on this new adventure he was sure to be starting on. So he walked to the door, holding the green ink letter in his hand, and ready to start this new journey.


	4. Places For the Magical

Bilbo and Beorn left Bree soon after in a cart that Beorn took from the stable behind the inn. Bilbo got a glimpse of the pony him and Lobelia had ridden there still tied to the post. What a shame he never got to thank it for all the running it did. Now he was leaving, going somewhere completely new to him on a whim from receiving a letter telling him he was supposed to learn how to perform magic. There were so many questions to ask, but Bilbo had no time to ask them, because by the time Beorn had started driving the cart Bilbo had fallen fast asleep. The surprises of the night added to the rush of the day before had tired him out quite a lot more than he had thought it would. He closed his eyes in Bree, and when he woke he was somewhere completely different.  
  
“Better wake up now, Bilbo.” Beorn said as the young Hobbit opened his eyes slowly and groggily. “Welcome to the town of Arrowfell.”  
  
Arrowfell was a town that looked quite similar to Bree, Bilbo noticed as they were stopped on a hill overlooking it with the horse pulling the cart shaking his head from all the flies around, except it was nicer. The city square looked very nice, with brick and cobblestone roads and many stone buildings. The area around it was grassland, with flowers and tall grass as far as Bilbo could see. The air did not smell like turnips or ale, rather, a scent of fire and crackling ashes from the city below, mixed with the smell of leather and wood.  
  
“Is this Hogwarts?” Bilbo asked, sitting up and stretching out.  
  
Beorn laughed. “No, no. This is where you'll be buying all your things. for Hogwarts. Did you look at that list of supplies?” Bilbo shook his head. “Better get reading, then.”  
  
Bilbo reached into the torn open envelope lying next to him, and took out two sheets of parchment. One was the acceptance letter he'd already read, and the other was the list of things he needed to buy for the start of term. Bilbo was quite excited to be doing this. He had never gone to a proper school before. Aunt Lobelia had said there was never a need for it, and that anything he wanted to learn he could learn by doing work at home.  
  
But as he read the list, he noticed none of the things on here seemed like they would be needed for education in a school. “Um, Beorn?” Bilbo asked as the cart began to descend the hill into the city of Arrowfell. “Are you sure we can buy all this here?”  
  
“Only if you know where to go.” he replied. Bilbo continued reading the list.  
  
First-year students will require:  
  
Uniform  
  
Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (Black)  
One Plain Pointed Hat (Black) for day wear  
One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
One Winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)  
Please note that all students clothes should carry name-tags at all times.  
  
Books  
  
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Pahana Plainmane  
A History of Magic by Galgaliel Telantes  
Magical Theory by Vulas Maeral  
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Yorrerlun Leadbringer  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Strornok Dragoncoat  
Magical Drafts and Potions by Semolina Clayhanger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Theodebert Oldbuck  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Achaeia Helleori  
  
Other equipment  
  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (Pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set of glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set of brass scales  
Students may also bring a Raven OR a Cat OR a Toad.  
  
Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks  
  
By the time he had read it all the way through, Beorn had driven them into the city itself, and Bilbo looked up into his surroundings. “This is obviously another town of men,” he thought. There were quite a few shops selling crafts and makeup, along with one selling meats and vegetables. Just by looking at it got Bilbo quite hungry. He hadn’t eaten at all since breakfast yesterday, which is quite unusual for a Hobbit. He said nothing about it to Beorn, however. Beorn had been nice enough to Bilbo, he wasn’t about to go about asking him for everything he saw. He heard sounds of loud clanging on his left, and turned his head to see men with beards working away as blacksmiths.  
  
“Those are Dwarves, Bilbo.” Beorn told him as Bilbo looked at them working away.  
  
“Why are they in a town of men, then?”  
  
Beorn sighed. “They were once Dwarves of Erebor, the great kingdom in the east. It was taken over and destroyed a few years back.”  
  
“Destroyed by who?” asked Bilbo as the cart turned the corner onto a cobblestone street with less shops and more people walking along it.  
  
Beorn shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Can’t help but feel bad for those Dwarves. They’ve lost nearly everything. “  
  
Bilbo was silent for the rest of the drive through the city. He looked out onto the shops and houses lining the streets they went down. Some had people outside them, trying to sell their products or talking to people as they passed by, some looked as if they hadn’t been in business for months and were breaking down. Soon enough, Beorn brought the cart to a stop outside a place with a wooden sign overhead that read “The Black Arrow”. Bilbo had to squint to read the sign, for the letters looked like they weren’t there. The place itself was dark, with dusty windows and chips in the walls. “You could walk past this place, and not even know it was there.” Bilbo thought to himself as he jumped down from the cart, folding up the supplies list and tucking it into his pocket. Beorn tied up the horse to a post beside the Black Arrow, and Bilbo watched as he took a carrot out of his coat and fed it to him. Beorn pushed open the door to the Black Arrow, and him and Bilbo walked inside.  
  
Bilbo knew immediately that this was just like the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree, judging from the heavy smell of ale and wood. Flute and fiddle music was coming from the far end of the room, though no one seemed to be playing an instrument. It was full of people, though not all of them looked tall enough to be men. Nearly all of them were wearing heavy clothing, from what Bilbo could tell, some were even dressed in armour. They walked past a table where Bilbo heard a plump woman with a beard talking very loudly to a tall man wearing a cloak about the properties of Kingsfoil and how they should be buying more of it. Someone bumped into Bilbo as he passed by, following close behind Beorn.  
  
“What are we doing here?” Bilbo asked quietly as a woman shouted to say she wanted another mug of beer. “It’s early morning, why are these people drinking?”  
  
“Bilbo, it’s nearly noon. You’ve just been asleep for a long drive.” Beorn answered him, ducking to avoid a low-hanging light. Bilbo noticed that quite a few patrons in the pub were staring at them as they passed through the crowd. “And don’t worry, I know where I’m going.”  
  
Beorn walked up to the bar where there were at least ten people all of different sizes chatting away and drinking. Bilbo stayed close behind him as Beorn went in between a short man holding a rather large mug of beer and another short creature laughing loudly.  
  
The man behind the bar looked up as Beorn approached him. He was around an average size for a man, judging from Bilbo’s standards, seeing as he was taller than Bilbo and shorter than Beorn. He had black hair that reached the top of his shoulders and a small moustache above his lip. “Ah, if it isn’t Beorn again!” he exclaimed. “The usual then?”  
  
Beorn shook his head. “I would, Bard, but not today. Just taking young Bilbo to get his school supplies.” He nudged Bilbo’s shoulder with his hand, having to reach down to do so.  
  
Bard looked down at Bilbo, and his eyes widened with surprise. “Good gracious.” he said in near disbelief. “It’s Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
Everyone at the bar seemed to stop what they were doing when Bard said his name aloud. The flute and fiddle music stopped abruptly, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air. The short person stopped their laughing and stared at Bilbo, along with everyone else sitting by the bar. There were whispers and muttering among the patrons. Some even pointed to him, looking as if they’d seen a ghost. Bilbo stood on the spot, unknowing of what to do. He felt as if someone had shone a light onto him, and now everyone knew he was there.  
  
“Is it really him?” a woman with a rather impressive red beard asked the person sitting beside her.  
  
“By the Green Lady, it is!” exclaimed a Hobbit man whom Bilbo noticed was sitting next to the bar. Beorn seemed to have noticed he’d brought attention to Bilbo, because he shifted away from the young Hobbit, which was exactly the opposite of what Bilbo wanted him to do.  
  
Soon enough, everyone in the bar wanted to shake his hand. They crowded round, muttering excitedly to themselves about “Bilbo Baggins, in the Black Arrow! Who’d’ve thought?” They told him their names and shook his hand, telling him how much it was an honour to be seeing him in person.  
  
“Vedast Proudmead, Mr Baggins, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you!”  
  
“Erling Hornblower, the pleasure is all mine.”  
  
“Tavia Knotwise. Bilbo, I can’t believe it’s really you!”  
  
“Good to see you, Mr Baggins, my name’s Savanna Silverstring.”  
  
And before he knew it, Bilbo had shook the hands of what seemed like everyone in the pub, including the barman Bard, some even twice, before Beorn came to send everyone back to whatever they were doing.  
  
“I wanted you to meet someone, Bilbo.” Beorn told him as he took Bilbo away from all the gaping patrons, still chattering away about him.  
  
Beorn walked with him away from the bar and tables, and to the very far left. The flute and fiddle music had started up again, and nearly everyone was still looking at him as Bilbo walked beside Beorn, up towards where a short Dwarf with very long dark hair stood, drinking from a small mug.  
  
“Bilbo, this is Thorin Oakenshield.” Beorn said as they reached where the Dwarf was standing. “He’ll be one of your professors at Hogwarts. Fancy to be seeing you here, professor.”  
  
Thorin Oakenshield looked up from his mug. “I was in town. Glad to see you’re doing some work for Gandalf.”  
  
Beorn shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not what I normally do, but Gandalf asked, so naturally, I said yes.” But Bilbo couldn’t help but notice the way the professor was looking at him. He didn’t look surprised to see him, nor did he seem happy. He just stared, like Bilbo was a cloak on sale in a store that the professor was examining.  
  
“So, this is the Hobbit.” he asked Beorn.  
  
“What? Oh, yes, Bilbo, that’s him.” Beorn said.  
  
Thorin continued to look Bilbo over. “A pleasure it is then.” He smiled at Bilbo.  
  
“I’ll suppose you want to shake my hand as well?” Bilbo asked him, outstretching his hand.  
  
But Thorin did not reach out, instead, he slightly backed away from him. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Good to be seeing you, all the same.”  
  
Bilbo nodded warily. Everyone else in the pub had been so keen to see him. Before he could say anything, Beorn was rushing him off towards a side door. “See you at Hogwarts, Professor.” Beorn called to Thorin. Beorn pulled open the door in the middle of the wall, and Bilbo went through it. He found himself in a small square, brick walls on all sides of him. Beorn came through shortly after.  
  
“What happened in there?” Bilbo asked almost immediately. “Why did everyone treat me like I’m famous?”  
  
“Didn’t I tell you, Bilbo? You are famous.” Beorn answered, reaching into his coat and pulling out the same wood stick he had used on Lobelia’s hat the night before.  
  
“I don’t understand.” Bilbo asked as Beorn walked to the brick wall farthest away from where Bilbo stood. “How can I be famous? I didn’t even know any of…any of this existed before yesterday.”  
  
“I’ll tell you soon enough.” Beorn said. He tapped the bricks with the stick in some sort of pattern, tapping one, then another, then another, and three more. He placed the stick back into his coat, and stood back from the wall. And before Bilbo’s eyes, the bricks began to move. They spread out from each other, forming an arch where the wall used to be, and opening up to another alleyway, though this looked different than the one outside. Bilbo walked up to the arch as the bricks stopped moving and stared into the bright alleyway, crammed with people of all sizes, some carrying bags, some carrying brooms, some with small children by their side, and all walking by the crooked shops and stores that lined the road on both sides.  
  
“Welcome to Diagon Alley, Bilbo.” Beorn said to Bilbo. “This is where you’ll get all your supplies you need. Told you I knew where I was going.”  
  
Bilbo laughed, and without a moment’s pause stepped forward into Diagon Alley. He stood in the middle of the road, staring at all the different shops. They were all built on a slant, and seemed in danger of toppling over at any given moment. Many had weathervanes hanging off their sides, with instead of chickens on them there were different beasts, the likes of which Bilbo had never seen before. One in particular had a painting on it’s side of what looked like a large dog, with glowing blue eyes and pure white fur. Bilbo could have stayed in that spot all day long, looking out on Diagon Alley, but Beorn tapped his shoulder before he could drift much farther off into space.  
  
“Let’s get you your uniform first.” He reminded Bilbo. “I think Habban’s is just around here…”  
  
But Bilbo had remembered something that put a damper on the wonderful feeling he had as soon as Beorn had mentioned buying something. “I don’t have any money. How can I buy anything?”  
  
“Oh, yes, you’re right.” Beorn nodded. “Off to Gringotts first, then.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Wizard bank. It’s where they keep people’s money for when they need it. Just up this way, I believe. Follow me, and don’t get lost.” Beorn told Bilbo. So he stayed very close to him as they made their way up the road, passing in between the wandering shoppers.  
  
Bilbo made sure to look in all the shop windows as he walked. Bilbo had never been in a large city or even a small one like Arrowfell to buy necessities. That was always what his aunt did. Now that he was in one himself, he felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people crowded around the windows, peering in and blocking his view. There were a few young boys who looked as if they might be children of Men, chattering and oohing in one of the windows Bilbo and Beorn passed by. Bilbo just got a glimpse of a broomstick on a stand in the window before they turned the corner, and were on another street.  
  
This one had less people, and more things out on the sides of the shops. Some had tables and chairs that passerby had plunked themselves down on and were having conversations about a Minister, whatever that was. Bilbo very nearly tripped over a box beside a tall building with a low hanging sign that said “Frecs and Jokx Cauldron Business”, and jumped when a large cat escaped from inside it. Soon after came a hobbling man running after the tabby, and Bilbo scuttled off to the next street so as to avoid being run over.  
  
The last street they turned onto was filled with an aroma of sweets that Bilbo couldn’t help but take in a deep breath of. Already he wanted to stay forever in Diagon Alley, and they hadn’t even bought anything yet. Beorn seemed to notice Bilbo’s ecstatic expression as he caught eye of a small shop with chocolates in it’s window. “First the money, then the sweets.” he reminded him. Bilbo nodded, though still longingly staring at the treats in the window.  
  
Up ahead was a great white building, leaning slightly over to the left, with gold letters across it’s side that read “Gringotts Bank for Magical Beings”. Bilbo could not say he was surprised at the professional look of the building, he had expected a look of greatness when Beorn had told him it held money inside it. What he was surprised at was the number of Dwarves standing around it. Bilbo shifted closer to Beorn’s side as they walked up to the marble steps of Gringotts, Dwarves surrounding the door. Some had long beards and hair and were wearing heavy clothing, and some had no beard at all and were dressed in thin shirts and pants. Few had mad looks to them, and were cursing and banging on the walls. Bilbo looked off to one of the many pillars of the building to see a young Dwarf lady, her hair short and thin, leaning against the pillar and wiping her face. She looked abandoned, with a face of defeat Bilbo had been lucky to never see before.  
  
“What are they all doing here?” Bilbo whispered to Beorn as some of the Dwarves began to step aside from the door as Beorn approached.  
  
Beorn shook his head. “They’re not supposed to be here. They’re unemployed, most come from the ruins of Erebor. They want jobs at Gringotts, since they employ Dwarves already. But there’s just too many of them. Some of them aren’t even magical, they’ve just heard of this place and came flocking to.”  
  
Bilbo continued to look warily at the Dwarves as Beorn walked him up to the door. He knocked twice, and Bilbo saw a peephole open up. Beorn had to duck again to look into it, and as he did, the doors swung open. Before Bilbo could get a good look inside, he was being pushed from all sides, hearing angry shouts from behind him as Beorn grabbed ahold of his arm and pulled him into the bank, shutting the door with a bang behind him. The Dwarves outside began to pound on the door, and Beorn took a great and heavy sigh.  
  
“Really can’t help but feel bad for them.” he said with remorse. “Erebor was once a great and noble kingdom. They were once lords and ladies. Now they’re the poorest people in middle-earth.”  
  
Bilbo couldn’t help but feel bad for the Dwarves as well. But all of that was swept into the back of his mind when he looked away from Beorn and into Gringotts. It was by far the most stone and marble he had ever seen making up walls. It was comprised of one very long and wide hallway, with tall desks on either side, just as the shops had been laid out in the streets of Diagon Alley. Each desk had a Dwarf working away at it, some with piles of gold coins they were counting in front of them. Bilbo looked up to see the high ceiling, with an artwork of what looked to be a large silver Dragon surrounded by gold, jewels, and treasures. Bilbo suddenly felt as if he were the smallest creature in the world, just standing there in the middle of this vast stone hall.  
  
But Beorn had began to walk off down the hall, and Bilbo quickly hurried off after him, not wanting to be lost. He took glances at the working Dwarves as he walked, the cold stone of the floor freezing his bare feet. Bilbo felt very odd indeed, to be in a very important Magic building wearing nothing but bedclothes and a navy bathrobe. The working Dwarves did not seem as angry or sad as the ones outside, and looked rather well-dressed and fed. Bilbo felt intimidated by their stares as he walked beside Beorn, towards a large desk in the middle of the hall. He stopped looking at them and suddenly found the diamond pattern of the marble floor extremely interesting.  
  
Him and Beorn came to a halt in front of the desk, where a Dwarf with a large (and rather impressive) red beard sat, scratching away with a quill. Beorn cleared his throat with a rusty cough, and the Dwarf looked up. He seemed very annoyed at them interrupting his work. “Good afternoon, Glóin.” Beorn greeted the Dwarf. “Bilbo Baggins would like to take some money from his vault.”  
  
Glóin stared down at Bilbo with a piercing look in his eyes that made Bilbo gulp. “And does Bilbo have a key?” he asked in a throaty voice.  
  
Bilbo did not have a key, and was about to ask Beorn if he had one for him when Beorn reached into his coat and took from it a small bronze key. He put it on the desk towards Glóin. Then, with a quick shifting glance around the room, Beorn leaned close to Glóin. “There’s another vault I need to open. It’s about…” he paused, reaching into his coat yet again and giving Glóin an envelope with string around it. “Well, you know.”  
  
Glóin read over the envelope, and tucked it into his hand. He then stepped down from his seat behind the desk and motioned for Beorn and Bilbo to follow him. “Very well. Follow me.” he grumbled.

  


As it turned out, and as Bilbo had suspected, the money of the entire Magic population was not kept inside that one hall. There was a complex of vaults underneath the main entrance of Gringotts, and the only way to get there was in a mine cart on a track that seemed to rattle at every given moment. The only thing Bilbo was keen about on the ride down was that the stone complex looked quite impressive, and had crystals and gems lying about everywhere they passed. The Dwarf Glóin drove the mine cart, and was silent for the ride down there, while Bilbo would have liked nothing better than to have yelled at the top of his lungs. The speeding cart came to a screeching halt in front of a stone door with the number 937 carved on it.  
  
“Vault nine hundred thirty-seven.” Glóin announced as he stepped out of the cart, Bilbo running his hand over his neck from the whiplash of their sudden stop. Beorn helped him out of the cart and onto the stone platform, where he wobbled around on the balls of his feet, for Hobbits are not accustomed to be going somewhere as wild and fast as he had just been on the cart. Bilbo stood next to Beorn as Glóin walked to the stone door, holding the little bronze key Beorn had handed him in his gloved hand.  
  
But Bilbo noticed something odd about the door before Glóin could open it. “Um, sir?” He spoke. “There isn’t a keyhole. I don’t think you’ll be able to open it.”  
  
But Glóin shook his head. “This is a door made by Dwarves. D’you really think they’d just put a keyhole in plain sight, where a trespasser could break into it?” He chuckled with a throaty voice, and placed his hand on the door. “Not to mention there’s already tons of security in these mines. No trespasser, thief, burglar, or criminal could get their hands on any of the gold in these vaults. Of course, there’s always the Elves…” He laughed again, and took his hand off the wall. Bilbo watched as a hole began to dent itself into the wall, forming a keyhole where there had once been solid rock. Glóin inserted the bronze key into the lock, twisted it a couple times, and stood back. The rock began to move, to Bilbo’s amazement, and it swung open.  
  
Bilbo wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to be in his vault, but it certainly wasn’t what he saw before him now. The Hobbit couldn’t help but gasp as the door swung aside to reveal a great pile of gold, silver, and bronze pieces. Bilbo had never seen so much money in his life. He thought of what Aunt Lobelia might say if she saw all this. No doubt she’d swipe it all up from right under Bilbo’s nose and buy as many doilies and dishes as there were in Hobbiton.  
  
“I…I don’t understand.” Bilbo said to Beorn, staring at his riches before him. “Where did all this come from?”  
  
“Your parents left you it all.” Beorn answered him. "I doubt you thought they’d leave you all alone with nothing at all.”  
  
Bilbo shook his head, bouncing his curls on his forehead. “Can I…” he motioned to the pile.  
  
“Of course. It’s yours after all.” Beorn said. “Mind you, though. The gold ones are Galleons, the silver ones Sickles, and the bronze are Knuts.”  
  
So Bilbo, not wanting to take all of his money at once, took about a handful of Galleons, a few Sickles, and some Knuts as well, whatever their names meant. He stepped back out onto the stone platform, putting the coins into his pocket, and Glóin sealed the stone door once more. He motioned for Bilbo and Beorn to get back into the cart, and before Bilbo knew it, they were soaring down the rattling track once more.  
  
After what was another unpleasantly rocky trip for Bilbo, the mine cart came to a stop in front of another vault, thought this one looked very different from Bilbo’s. It had jagged rocks across the top of the stone overhang above the door, and the door itself was not made of stone, but had what looked like metal hinges running down it. Glóin stepped out of the cart first, and Bilbo got out by himself (though having to make a leap onto the platform). He went to stand next to the door, but Glóin stuck out an arm that held him back.  
  
“You asked about the security of the vaults, didn’t you?” he asked Bilbo, going to stand next to the door himself. “Well, some are more protected than others. Stone doors aren’t as effective as we’d like sometimes. So then there’s these.” He motioned to the metal hinges on the large door. “Only a Dwarf’s who made themselves familiar with this one can open it.”  
  
“What happens if someone else tries to open it?” Bilbo asked him.  
  
“They’d get stuck inside.” Glóin said.  
  
“How often do you look to see if someone’s got themselves stuck in there?”  
  
Glóin began to run his hand down the hinges. They made a strange clicking noise, much like someone’s teeth chattering. “Oh, ‘bout every ten years.” The clicking stopped, and Glóin took his hand back. “Vault one hundred and ninety-four. This one’s yours, Beorn.”  
  
The door swung open with a sudden rush of cold air, to reveal a small package no bigger than Bilbo’s foot (which are, Hobbit-wise, very small) on the floor of the vault. Again, Bilbo hadn’t known what to expect what would be inside, but he had been hoping it would be something interesting, seeing as Beorn had been so cautious while telling Glóin he needed it. Beorn stepped inside and picked it up, holding it first above his head, as though trying to get a glimpse of what was inside, and then placing in with great care into his coat. He exited the vault, and Glóin sealed it up. “Had better get that to Gandalf soon as you can.” he told Beorn, mentioning the package.  
  
Beorn nodded, and got back into the cart. Bilbo thought that at this point it would be rude to ask why Beorn was getting a small package for Gandalf that seemed to be secret, and tried to put it out of his mind. He had money now…more than he had ever had in this short life. He could buy whatever he wanted in Diagon Alley. “But first,” he reminded himself as his stomach began to grumble on the way back in the mine cart “I think I’d better have some breakfast.”


	5. School Supplies

Exiting Gringotts with a pocket full of gold had given Bilbo sudden new thoughts about how great it was to be magical, even though he was on an empty stomach, and was reminded of this once more as he climbed back into the mine cart for a final time back inside Gringotts. Glóin was suddenly very talkative on the way back to the main halls, and was keen to tell Bilbo everything he could about the safety measures surrounding Gringotts.  
  
“The bosses are real worrisome when it comes to Gringotts.” He had said, veering on a hard left turn that made Bilbo lean forward off of his seat. “They wanna keep everything in good hands. They’ve done so much it’s the safest place in the world, ‘cept Hogwarts, or Lothlórien. Some vaults get more protection then others. High standard, usually owned by an Elf.” They took another veer left and this time Bilbo knew to grab on to the edge of the cart to prevent himself going face-first into the dark area now below them. “But there’s a lot of stuff keeping this place from thieves. I can’t really tell you everything, but I’d advise you if you ever become a burglar, don’t try your luck here. Less you run into the stone giant on the ground levels…”  
  
Having all this new freedom raised young Bilbo’s spirits so much that he had to keep from rushing into the first shop he saw upon exiting the bank (conveniently named Moucabe’s for the Every-Day Witch or Wizard). Beorn had to hold him back with a firm grasp on the Hobbit’s robe that prevented him from taking even the smallest step forward.  
  
“I think we’d better go for your uniform now.” Beorn told him, loosening his grip and letting Bilbo walk quickly over the cobblestones. The street was more crowded than it had been when they had entered Gringotts not even an a half hour ago, but the Dwarves were still occupying the main entrance, and avoiding them made Bilbo quite uneasy. “I’ll show you where Habban’s is. Just down the next road, I think…”  
  
It took Bilbo and Beorn a rather long time to get to where Droinu Habban’s Robes for All Occasions stood on a corner right next to the brick wall where they had entered Diagon Alley around an hour before, mainly because Bilbo’s stomach rumbling became so bothersome he asked Beorn if they could buy “just a little spot of lunch, that’s all I’m asking of you”. Now Bilbo was full, having eaten some cakes and salmon bought at Lavinia Applegrass’s small market. Lavinia herself was a Hobbit, which made Bilbo quite comfortable stepping in and taking a sniff the food’s aroma, because as everyone knows, when you are in the company of a Hobbit, your appetite will most certainly be taken care of. Bilbo had also been peeking in at every window they passed, which Beorn did not seem to mind as much, but would rush the young Hobbit along if he became too mesmerized by a set of moving scales or an entire store filled with ravens. By the time they had reached the small purple-painted shop on the corner, noon had passed, and many of the Magic folk had gone back past the barrier after finishing their lunch and midday shopping.  
  
“Here, you go inside.” Beorn told Bilbo as they stood in front of Droinu Habban’s robes shop, staring up at the large moving needle threading in and out of the letters spelling out the shop’s name. “I’ll get you your cauldron and your books. Don’t wander.” Bilbo nodded, and Beorn walked away from him down the street. Bilbo stayed for a few more seconds looking at the needle, then entered the shop.  
  
It looked quite plain and normal to Bilbo, for it was one of the only shops he had been into that day that did not have stone making up the walls and was not abnormally large. He recognized the fabrics that stood on models around the lavender and white walls from when his aunt had sewed up torn coats and pants. It was quiet and smelled of vanilla, and no one else was in there. Bilbo was just getting to wondering if he should leave when a small stout person stood up from behind a desk at the very back of the room. They looked too short to be a man but too tall to be a Hobbit, and didn’t look at all like the other Dwarves Bilbo had seen all day, for they had short hair and a very small bit of stubble at the end of their chin.  
  
“Oh, I’m so sorry my dear, I couldn’t see you there.” they called to Bilbo in a silvery tone.  
  
“No, no it’s fine, sir, um…” Bilbo said as they hurried quickly over to him, quill caught in their hair and measure around their neck.  
  
“Mx Habban will do fine, dear.” they said, smiling. “Now, let me guess…Hogwarts? First year?” Bilbo nodded. Mx Habban clapped their hands together. “Wonderful. Don’t need to tell me, I know exactly the things you need. Let me just measure you.”  
  
Mx Habban took the tape measure off of their neck and placed it around Bilbo’s shoulders, then down the arm, then around the waist. He watched as they screwed up their face with each new measurement, and would sometimes have to remeasure after forgetting one. In no time they had rushed off and disappeared behind a door, repeating numbers underneath their breath. Bilbo stood where he was when he heard the door ring and open again. He turned around quickly, hoping for Beorn to have returned, but instead saw a tall boy with blonde hair standing up straight in the doorway. He looked about Bilbo’s age, maybe older, but maybe that was only because he had more than a few extra inches on Bilbo’s height already. He stood in the doorway, looking puzzled for a few moments, then asked Bilbo “Is there no one here?”  
  
“There is. He’s, ah, I mean they’ve just gone off to take some measurements.” Bilbo replied, feeling quite tongue-tied as he did. So far he had done nothing but ask questions, and wasn’t very accustomed to answering them.  
  
The boy frowned, yet stepped onto the lilac shag carpet anyway. He gazed around at the shop, not paying any attention to Bilbo whatsoever. The boy ran his hand over a blue coat on a model. “Buying for Hogwarts?” he asked, with the same voice as a Hobbit would ask someone if they were studying a teapot at an auction (Bilbo knew this because he had once wanted to buy one for himself, but got too intimidated and went back home without buying anything at all).  
  
He nodded. “Yes, I am.”  
  
The boy turned from the coat on the model and now turned his eyes onto Bilbo. “So am I. My father sent me to buy my robes myself. He is somewhere else as of right now. It’ll be my first year.”  
  
“And mine too.” Bilbo said, making a hurry to cover his forehead, in case the boy recognized him and put him through another terribly awkward situation like in the Black Arrow. But the boy did not seem to recognize him, instead, his eyes did not linger on him for a second longer.  
  
“I wonder what house I’ll be put in.” the boy said, more to himself than to Bilbo. “All my family has been in Ravenclaw for their years at Hogwarts. I hope I’m not one to break the chain.” He wandered over to the desk where Mx Habban had appeared from behind. “I do suppose I could be happy with anything however.” he continued, staring intently at a pair of silver earrings shaped like arrows hanging off a small tree branch attached to the wall. “But I would be hoping they’d have a sense to not put me in Hufflepuff. There’s no house more Dwarvish than that one.”  
  
Bilbo did not know what the boy was talking about, and he did not know what a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff were. Instead he nodded, only pretending to be interested, which he was very good at by now. “Does anyone else in your family go to Hogwarts?”  
  
The boy shook his head slightly, not turning around again. “I have no other siblings.”  
  
Bilbo had no time to think of another question for him to ask, because Mx Habban returned from behind the wall, carrying a bundle of black robes in their large arms. “Here you are, dear.” they said to Bilbo, handing over the bundle.  
  
Bilbo nearly almost fell over as they handed them over; he had no idea clothes could be so heavy.  
  
“Thank you.” Bilbo said, clutching at the robes so that they did not fall out of his small arms.  
  
Mx Habban chuckled. “It’s no trouble at all. Have a good time at school!” they said to Bilbo as he waddled over to the door. The door opened by itself as he reached out for the handle, and he was once again standing in Diagon Alley, the vanilla scent of the shop gone and replaced with fresh air. The Hobbit was about to topple over when he spotted Beorn, standing beside a shop called “Hadramiel’s Magical Menagerie”, carrying a very large grey cauldron filled with books. Bilbo quickly went over to where he was, mumbling a quick “hello” and placing the bundle of clothes on top of the cauldron.  
  
“I’ve gotten you all your books, and your cauldron.” Beorn told him, motioning to where Bilbo had just placed his robes on top of. “All that’s left now is some astronomy supplies and of course, your wand.”  
  
A wand! Bilbo had forgotten that he would need something to actually perform magic with. “Where can I get a wand?”  
  
Beorn picked up the cauldron by its handle. “Well, then you’ll need to go to Óin’s, of course.” he said, directing Bilbo to a circular blue-painted shop that stood in between an ice-cream parlour and a bookstore. “You can go and buy a wand, I’ll get your astronomy supplies.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “Beorn?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“What’s a Ravenclaw?”  
  
Beorn looked confused. “Where’d you hear of that?”  
  
Bilbo pointed to Mx Habban’s shop. “There was another boy in there who said his family had been in it. Is it something bad?”  
  
Beorn shook his head, and Bilbo saw dust and dirt fly out from the wild mane that was his hair. “No, it’s nothing bad. It’s one of the Hogwarts houses. There’s four of them in total.”  
  
Bilbo brushed dust specks off of his shirt, attempting to do so in the least rude manner. “And what’s a Hufflepuff?”  
  
“Another house. The other two are Gryffindor and Slytherin.” Beorn said, patting down his unruly hair as he noticed Bilbo shaking off dust.  
  
“Hufflepuff is a Dwarvish house, I heard him say.”  
  
Beorn shook his head again, less dust flying out this time. “No, no, that’s not true. The houses don’t depend on who you are. They’re for your mind, not your appearance or breed.” He suddenly looked worried. “Who was it you were talking to?”  
  
Bilbo shifted on his feet. “No one. I mean, I don’t know. He didn’t say his name.”  
  
Beorn still looked worried, and Bilbo was feeling as if he had brought up a topic that shouldn’t have been brought up. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.  
  
“No, nothing’s wrong.” Beorn said. “Just thought of something. Now, go and get your wand. I’ll meet you outside the shop when you’re finished.”  
  
So Bilbo and Beorn went off in opposite directions once again, Bilbo sauntering towards the rounded store. As he got closer he saw that it said “Óin’s, fine wandmakers since the second age” in chipping white paint across the top of. Bilbo had no idea what a second age was, nor did he know how one exactly makes a wand, in fact, he was questioning how exactly you buy a wand. “Would it be like buying a coat? You see one that looks nice and check that it fits?” Bilbo asked himself as he opened the navy blue door. “Or do they just give you one and let you go about?”  
  
Óin’s wand shop was not like Gringotts or Mx Habban’s. Instead, it looked quite like a Hobbit-hole, which made Bilbo’s worries about what he should be doing to properly buy a wand vanish. It was made out of wood, and all around the walls were shelves with small, long boxes stacked all about the room. Bilbo spotted an oil lamp on top of the wooden desk that stood in the middle of the room and remembered that just last night, he hadn’t known any of this existed. He had been inside an old inn in a town of men with his aunt, staring out the window at the stars and dreaming of what had been inside the letters from the ravens. Now he was standing in a wand shop, in an alley completely made up of magic supplies and creatures, receiving money and buying school robes. He had talked to more people today alone than he had in his entire life in Hobbiton, and he was quite enjoying it. Bilbo had always thought that someone like him would never get to go on any adventures at all, let alone leave his Hobbit-hole. He barely knew anything about this new world of magic he had been whisked off into, yet knew that he wanted to stay here forever.  
  
Just like Mx Habban’s, no one was present inside when Bilbo first stepped through the door. It was quiet, with nothing but a slight smell of pine hovering in the air. He looked around at all the boxes on the shelves (and some on top of the desk). They had writing on them, a few Bilbo could read and very many he could not. As he strolled around the shop, being very careful not to make any of the boards squeak, he noticed that the boxes had numbers and a few runes of them he could not read. “I wonder what they keep inside those, seeing as there’s so many so many” he wondered, tripping over his own feet as a board gave a tiny squeak. Bilbo stumbled, and felt his feet start to slip underneath him. He did the only thing he could do as he began to fall - put his hands out in front of him and grip tightly onto whatever was in front of him. Unfortunately, in front of him was a shelf with more boxes on it, and when Bilbo reached out he ended up grabbing onto some of the boxes, and falling onto the ground. The boxes clattered down next to him, making such a loud sound he had no idea boxes could make.  
  
As if on cue, a shout came from the back of the shop. “Who’s there?” Bilbo froze up. How would this look to the shop owner, he thought, a Hobbit on the ground surrounded by boxes he had knocked off the shelf? Bilbo made hastily to get up and was starting to place the boxes back when there were footsteps and he knew he was too late. So, he stood up straight, held his hands behind his back, and tried to not focus on the boxes lying beside his feet as another Dwarf with grey hairs and a long beard paced out from the back of the shop. The Dwarf took one look at Bilbo, then at the boxes at his feet. Bilbo felt himself going quite red.  
“Um…” he began. “I’m sorry. I just, tripped, and…”  
  
But the Dwarf shook his head. “Ah, it’s no worry.” He hobbled over to Bilbo, looking very weighed-down, and began to pick up the boxes off the ground. Bilbo too helped to pick up boxes and restock them on the shelves.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Mr..um, Mx…” Bilbo asked the Dwarf after he’d finished stacking them back up.  
  
“Óin, dear Bilbo.” he told the Hobbit. “You’ll have to speak up a bit, I’m rather deaf in this ear.” He gestured towards both his left and right ears before chuckling.  
  
Bilbo seemed to freeze again on the spot. “How…how did you know who I am?”  
  
Óin hobbled over to the desk in the middle of the room, picking up a few boxes from the shelves as he did. “I remember your parents when they came to buy your wands. Not that long ago, really. I knew it was only a matter of time before you came as well.”  
  
Bilbo was still confused. It seemed that everyone in the magic world knew his name, yet he knew none of them. “My parents?”  
  
“Belladonna and Bungo, as I remember. Sycamore, Unicorn hair, 9 and a half inches, rather springy.” He said, racking his mind to remember something. “Then your father. Cedar, Kelpie hair, 10 inches, only slightly springy. Tragic, really.” Óin sighed as he motioned the Hobbit to his desk. “But never mind any of that. Let’s try out some wands.”  
  
Bilbo did not know how to try out wands, and was about to ask when Óin placed one of the boxes on the counter. He took off the lid, and brought from inside it a long piece of wood with many scratch marks all over it. “This one might. Here.” He reached forward and gave it to Bilbo. It felt light in his hands, and he felt like twirling it around just like a walking stick, only smaller. “Sycamore, Dragon heartstring, 8 and a quarter inches, flexible.” When Bilbo did nothing but stare at him, he sighed again and said “Give it a little wave.”  
  
So Bilbo flicked his wrist with the wand in his hand. A jet of white light came out of it, and before he knew it he was on his back once more, lying a few feet away from the ground. He groaned, his rear feeling as if it had been put through a lot of falling today, and stood up, swaying slightly.  Óin shook his head, beard frizzing out as he did so. “No, I guess not. Give it here.” Bilbo handed over the wand, not wanting to be holding it anymore in case it decided to throw him backwards again. Óin put it back in the box, and took out another one. This wand was a dark colour, with a pattern of scales down one of it’s sides. “Try this instead. Rosewood, Unicorn hair, 11 inches, rather springy.” Bilbo reached out and took it. He gave another flick of his wrist, and did not fly backwards this time. Instead, he heard a loud crash from the back of the store. Both him and Óin whirled their heads to see, and Bilbo quickly put the wand back on the desk. “Guess not that one either.”  
  
Óin nodded. He took out yet another box. “Ebony, Dragon heartstring, 9 and a quarter inches, very stiff.” And it was to no one’s surprise when this wand as well did not work, and made all the lights in the shop go out instead.  
  
Bilbo was given wand after wand by Óin, and none of them seemed particularly unable to cause some sort of destruction in the already battered-up shop. Soon enough there were more dents in the walls, wand boxes back on the floor, a few feathers lying astray from a wand with Kelpie hair in its core that did not seem to agree with who it was being given to, and a rather sore Bilbo (who had been thrown backwards an extra three times). Still, Óin went into the back room and brought out more wand boxes for Bilbo to try. Nearly all of them had different colours, sizes, and patterns, each of which Óin made sure to tell Bilbo of before trying it. He felt as if he had been in there for an entire day after the twenty-eighth wand backfired on him, sending a burst of flames out from the tip and igniting the wand box itself, when Óin wandered once again into the back room. Bilbo watched as he shuffled through the boxes upon boxes of wands, pushing them aside and digging deeper into the piles. He pushed one aside and stopped his shuffling, staring down at the box. Bilbo saw him pick it up and study the side of the box. “I wonder if…” he muttered. Óin limped out from the back room, and placed the wand box on the desk. He opened the lid very carefully, as if it was made of glass, and Bilbo watched him take out a wand made out of oak, which Bilbo recognized from the trees in Hobbiton. It had a no pattern on the sides, and a small grip at the bottom end that was darker than the rest of the wand, decorated with silver drawings of leaves and acorns. “Try.” Óin handed Bilbo the wand. “Oak, Eagle feather, 11 inches, pliable.”  
  
Bilbo did not hesitate to wave the wand, and braced himself for another explosion. However, this time, it did not come. Instead his hand felt warm, and he looked at the wand tip to see it glowing with light. He continued to hold the wand and the light kept shining. It went out a few seconds later, the warm feeling leaving Bilbo. He looked up to Óin, rather excited that this time he did not cause damage, and was met with a face of deep thought from the Dwarf.  
  
“Interesting.” Óin mumbled. “Very interesting. “What’s interesting?” Bilbo asked.  
  
Óin stared down at the wand in Bilbo’s hands. “That wand is made from an Eagle feather core. One of the many cores to be placed in wands, it’s quite common actually. But you see, usually Eagles only give one feather for wand use in their life. But the Eagle that gave its feather for that one gave up two instead, the other for the wand of Lady Galadriel.” Upon Bilbo’s confused stare, he explained. “She was the one who had the Seeing eye, and made the prophecy for you…and the one who gave you your scar.”  
  
Bilbo suddenly felt strange. He reached his other hand up to brush the hair across his bird-feather scar. “A prophecy? About me? And who else?”  
  
Óin’s eyes widened. He shook his head, letting his beard fly in each direction. “The name is cursed, on Erebor’s memory. You won't find many who speak of it.”  
  
Bilbo was now very interested, rather then scared, which was the look Óin was wearing. “But how did I… how did they…” He was unable to finish, looking for what to say.  
  
“It’s a story that we all know. And I’m sure that you will.” Óin said. “But I don’t think this can be a coincidence. See, the wand chooses it’s owner, not the other way around. The other Eagle feather was able to see what would happen to you, and the terrible one. That’s a wand that has a lot of power. I can believe yours would have the same potential. But don’t worry about that now. I’m glad you’ve found a wand.”  
  
Bilbo now had even more questions to ask Beorn, and he hoped he would have them answered soon. In a hurry, he paid for the wand, thanked Óin for his help, and walked out into the street. It was well past midday now, and Bilbo was about to see if there was any time for afternoon tea when he heard someone calling his name. He looked to where it was coming from, and spotted Beorn standing with a set of brass scales and a few phials inside the now-full cauldron outside the brick wall he knew lead to the Black Arrow, but that wasn’t what made Bilbo’s heart feel calm for the first time in the entire day. Perched on Beorn’s shoulders, with a loud cawing noise that drowned out Beorn telling him “It’s a name-day gift!”, was a large and dark raven of his own.


	6. The One Who Lived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: sorry if my Elvish or Khuzdul doesn’t mean what I thought it meant, I don’t know that many words or phrases. But if you want there’s a little dictionary at the bottom of this chapter for the words I have. Also, this'll be the last chapter I update for a month and a half, since I'm going away and there won't be any internet connection.

The shopping was done, after what had been a rather interesting and detailed introduction to this new world of magic for Bilbo. He had put his new wand into the pocket of his robe, not wanting to accidentally leave it behind or forget where it was inside the cauldron, still examining it as they began to exit the alley as though if he looked hard enough, what the wandmaker had said about his prophecy would begin to make the tiniest bit of sense. There were many questions to ask Beorn, Bilbo thought, as Beorn tapped his stick against the bricks and they re-entered the Black Arrow, leaving the wonder-filled Diagon Alley behind. The pub had been cleared of everyone who had been so eager to meet Bilbo when they first came , and was now empty, with no one left inside except Bard the barman and two women wearing patterned headscarves talking quietly in a booth. The raven now sat perched on the chair next to Bilbo, pecking away at a roll he had kept from the market. Bilbo couldn’t count the number of times he had thanked Beorn for the bird by now, despite Beorn reassuring him it was no trouble at all. He had yet to come up with a name for the bird itself, but had a strong feeling that the name Gilim would fit it well - he had heard a few Dwarves talking to each other on the way back to the Black Arrow and had absolutely no idea what it meant, but thought it sounded nice. That would be another question to ask Beorn.  
  
After each had had a warm bowl of soup for their afternoon tea (Beorn was still fascinated on watching just how much Hobbits can eat per day), Bilbo set aside his spoon and took a deep breath he didn’t know he had been holding in.  
  
“So can you explain any of this to me?”  
  
Beorn looked up from his bowl. “What’s there to explain?”  
  
Bilbo tapped his fingers on the handle of the spoon. “All…this.” He gestured to the pub area with his other hand. “No, no, not about here. I mean…magic. Out there.” He pointed to the door which they had just entered through.  
  
“Ah.” Beorn set down his spoon as well. “I thought you’d be asking something like that soon.”  
  
One of the ladies with the headscarves laughed at something the other said. “Why me?” Bilbo asked. “How am I Magic?”  
  
Beorn sat up in his chair, as though beginning to address a very serious matter. His posture made Bilbo suddenly nervous. “Well, you see, Magic isn’t just a random selection of creatures. It’s part of long histories, very old families and bloodlines. Magic, itself, was originally given to a few people by their gods a very long time ago, and it’s descended in bloodlines and spread all throughout middle-earth.”  
  
“I still don’t understand.” Bilbo took out a mushed-up carrot from the bottom of his soup bowl and gave it to the raven, who nipped it out of his hand and dropped it back onto the table. “I had no idea I was, or my family, was Magic until last night.”  
  
Beorn shook his head. “Not your entire family is Magic. Your Aunt Lobelia doesn’t have any Magic in her blood. But your mother and father, they did. And you’re lucky that it was passed onto you now, because not every generation is Magic.”  
  
Bilbo tried giving the carrot to the bird again, but it dropped it once more, and so he gave up. “So my parents, they knew how to do Magic from their parents?”  
  
“No.” Beorn said, lowering his voice now. “Only your father came from an all-magical family. Your mother had Laa-ingole parents.”  
  
“Laa-ingole?”  
  
“Magic, the Elvish term. Surprisingly that’s the most common language of wizards and witches.” Beorn answered. “Laa-ingole means no magic.”  
  
“But I thought you said it runs in families…”  
  
“Not always, Bilbo. Which is why you’re lucky. There aren’t as many Magic folk as there used to be, you know.”  
  
The raven gave a crow, and Bilbo waved his hand at it. Surprisingly, it quieted down. “What do you mean?”  
  
At this, Beorn glanced around the room as if someone was watching him. He lowered his voice again. “It’s a long story, Bilbo. I’m not sure I can tell you.”  
  
“Does it have something to do with my parents?” Bilbo asked. He wanted to ask about the prophecy involving him that Óin had told him about, and had a feeling he had hit on something that might bring it up.  
  
Beorn stared at Bilbo for a second, before turning away and sitting up again in his chair that he had been leaning forward in. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said anything.”  
  
“Then does it have anything to do with a prophecy?”  
  
Beorn’s eyes widened as Bilbo said this. He looked as though he had been hit in the stomach and gotten his breath knocked out. “Why would you think that?”  
  
“Something the wandmaker told me. Óin. He said there was someone who had created a prophecy about me and something else, but he wouldn’t tell me who.”  
  
The raven crowed again, and the front door of the pub opened to let in a small lady carrying a blanket and some beads. Beorn stared at her as she sat down before coming back to what Bilbo had said. “Oh. I should’ve know it would’ve come up.”  
  
“Please, just tell me.” Bilbo said, shifting his feet to sit comfortably. “I want to know why I’ve been so important to everyone today. And somehow, I don’t think it’s a good thing.”  
  
Beorn took a deep breath, glancing around once more before opening his mouth to speak. “Alright. Bilbo, you’ve lived your whole life with your aunt because your parents are…”  
  
“Dead. I know.”  
  
“Yes. And your aunt told you that they died in a carting accident.”  
  
“That isn’t how it went, was it?”  
  
Beorn shook his head. “No. They died at a time where there was something at large that had been reigning over middle-earth for a long time, as victims to it.”  
  
“What killed them?”  
  
“A dragon called…” Beorn seemed to become tongue-tied in the middle of his sentence. “Named…”  
  
“Maybe you could write it down.” Bilbo suggested.  
  
“No, no, couldn’t spell it.” Beorn muttered. “Oh Valar, it’s name was Smaug.”  
  
“Smaug?” Bilbo repeated, but Beorn gave him a hard stare.  
  
“No, don’t go saying it.” He told him. “Name’s cursed on thousands of lives and cities. Smaug was a conquering dragon, he took over places and killed all their inhabitants, taking all they had. That is what dragons do, of course. The things hoard gold and treasure like they need it to live. But anyways, Smaug…” The name looked like it was causing pain to Beorn to say it. “Yes, there was a prophecy Seen by Lady Galadriel.”  
  
“Who’s she?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“One of the first witches, and a Seer. She had seen Smaug’s end in one of her visions, and said it was going to happen because of a child of The Shire, born at the end of July. So Smaug did what anything being threatened would do. He burnt down The Shire.”  
  
Bilbo swallowed his breath. His parents were killed by a dragon, not a cart-and-pony. Hearing the truth made him feel somewhat good, but it was being replaced by the horror of the full situation quickly.  
  
Beorn continued, not making complete eye-contact with Bilbo. “As you expect, everything was burnt to ash. Hundreds dead in one night who should have never even had to worry about a dragon from the north. Smaug was cold and cruel. Anyone who he decided to kill died. Any city he wanted for himself fell. Everything…except you.”  
  
Bilbo suddenly felt as if everyone in the entire world were staring down on him. “Me? But what’s so special about me?”  
  
Beorn tapped his fingers on the table. “That, no one knows. But Smaug vanished after he failed to kill you, and no longer exists to this world.” He scoffed. “Rubbish, I think. The beast must still be out there, hiding…just waiting for his power to come back. But that’s why you’re famous, Bilbo. You’re the only creature known to have survived Smaug the Terrible. You’re the one who lived.”  
  
“The one who lived? That’s awfully fancy a title for me.” Bilbo stated, trying to still his hands, which he had noticed shaking.  
  
“Everyone who you’ll meet will know who you are, mostly by that scar of yours.” Beorn said, brushing out dust from his hair. Bilbo quickly reached up to touch the bird-feather scar on his forehead that he had not known was so important until now. “Your survival is really a considerable feat. It’s as if you’re made of Mithril.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“A Dwarvish metal, once mined in Erebor. No blade can pierce it. It’s the strongest metal we know of. Sometimes it’s given as gifts to warriors before battles.” Beorn stood from his chair, stretching out to his full size. “We should be going now.”  
  
Bilbo stood, reaching out his hand for the raven to jump onto. “Will I be going with you?”  
  
“No, unfortunately not. You’ll have to stay with your aunt before school starts.” Beorn told him. “Here. I almost forgot your password.” He reached into his coat and took out a crumpled sheet of parchment. “It’s very important you don’t lose that now, understand?”  
  
Bilbo nodded, and took the parchment from Beorn. Written on it in black ink were the words ‘Gamut meliku’. Bilbo stared at it, not able to understand what it said. “What’s this for?”  
  
“For your ticket to Hogwarts.” he answered him. “There’s directions on the other side. Arrive there by September first, no later or earlier, it won’t work on any other day.”  
  
Bilbo was very confused by the sheet of paper and the directions, but had no desire to ask about them. He had a feeling Beorn would not lie to him, nor fool him after all he had done for the Hobbit. So he nodded, and pocketed the parchment as the raven flew onto his shoulder.  
  
“Thought of a name for that bird yet?” Beorn asked Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo stared at the raven, now pecking at his shoulder, though he did not mind it. “I quite like that term you told me I was. Mithril. I think that sounds nice.”  
  
Beorn chuckled. “Well, it is a gift after all. Let’s hope the bird is strong then.”  
  
“Mithril.” Bilbo said under his breath as they began to walk towards the front door of the Black Arrow, cauldron in Beorn’s hand and raven on Bilbo’s shoulder. “A bird, Magic, and going away from home for the first time in my life.” He thought to himself. “I think I’m quite ready for this adventure.” 

  


Unfortunately, there was still a month to go before September began and Bilbo would be heading off to Hogwarts, and that meant another month back with Aunt Lobelia in Hobbiton. Beorn took the cart and drove all the way from Arrowfell to Hobbiton, the journey taking only two days with one stop outside a farming city for a night’s sleep. Bilbo sat in the back for the entire time, leafing through some of his spell books for school and frequently asking Beorn how to pronounce a hex’s name or exactly what a Lethifold was (which gave him shivers at the answer). He seemed to lose track of time throughout the journey, and when he caught a glimpse of the familiar houses of Hobbiton his spirits darkened. As Beorn helped him out of the cart in front of the yellow door of his Aunt’s house, he reminded Bilbo of the first date of term, and made sure he had the password and directions. Bilbo hauled his cauldron full of supplies along with him, with the newly-named Mithril flying around behind him. After making sure he had left nothing behind, Beorn bade him goodbye until Hogwarts term started, and headed back down the dirt road. Bilbo stood on the lawn, his feet being tickled by the fresh grass Lobelia had obviously been tending to, and watched as Beorn’s cart travelled further and further down the road, becoming smaller with each horse’s step, until he turned a corner and was gone. Bilbo had to remind himself that was not the last he would see of the Magic world, and simply had to wait until school started to see Beorn again. As he turned with his cauldron in hand and headed to the yellow door, he patted his pocket to make sure his wand was still there. Beorn had warned him not to try any of the spells he had read about before school started.  
  
Bilbo knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, and soon enough it opened with a creak, and there was his Aunt Lobelia in her yellow sundress and large hat. When she saw Bilbo she nearly dropped the mug she was holding onto the floor.  
  
“What on the green earth are you doing back here?” she scowled at him, looking Bilbo up and down and peering inside the cauldron.  
  
“There’s still a month left before school.” Bilbo answered her. Mithril perched on his shoulder as he said this.  
  
Lobelia stared at the bird with a prominent look of disgust. “Well, get inside then. Put - whatever those are - into the cupboard.” She nodded towards the cauldron full of supplies. As Bilbo began to take steps inside, she halted him with her hand, which as Bilbo noticed, looked as if it had a few warts on it from the bullfrog. “Not the bird. He stays outside.”  
  
Bilbo shook his shoulder, and Mithril flew off to a perch on top of the wooden mailbox. “Don’t fly off, alright?” Bilbo called out. Mithril crowed back in agreement.  
  
And for the next month or so, things went back to normal. Bilbo slept in his pantry cupboard and was back to regular Hobbit meals with Lobelia, who was keeping a fair distance from Bilbo now, and did not seem very intent to disturb him. Bilbo suspected that this was a result of her finding out her nephew had Magic in his blood, and was most probably afraid he would hex her. Bilbo had no heart to tell her he couldn’t perform a single spell if he tried, and only continued on with his daily business. The two did not speak much during the last month of summer, and Lobelia was very focused on making her garden the best she could. Bilbo did chores, as per usual, and each morning would go to check if Mithril had flown off in the night. Every morning the raven was perched on the mailbox, and Bilbo got into the habit of bringing him pieces of rolls and cakes for food, which Mithril seemed to enjoy.  
  
The young Hobbit was counting down the days until September, when he would be heading off to Hogwarts to learn Magic. One of the only times he talked to Lobelia during the month was during the night on August the twenty-third, six days before they would have to set out, as according to Beorn’s directions. Bilbo was reading his way through Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them when he heard his aunt heading down the hallway to her bedroom. The Hobbit took the chance to push open his pantry door, large red book still in hand, and lean out to see Lobelia in her blue pinafore, who did not notice Bilbo at first but jumped when she saw him. “What do you want?” she asked him groggily.  
  
“I just wanted to say, we’ve got six days until you’ve got to get me to Hogwarts.” Bilbo told her.  
  
Lobelia sighed heavily. “I don’t know where the bloody place is. You can’t expect me to get you there.”  
  
Bilbo shut his copy of Fantastic Beasts, and ducked back into his pantry for the piece of parchment. “No, see, they’ve given me directions.” He grabbed it and poked back out to hand it to Aunt Lobelia. “See?”  
  
Lobelia took the parchment, and read over the directions with a starched face. “To the East, I see. But this place he’s told you about,” she shook her head, handing it back to Bilbo. “doesn’t exist.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“He says there’s a place called Oakenmond in the Faded Cliff Forest. Last I checked, there’s nothing there but trees.” Lobelia said, and Bilbo thought he saw the beginning of a smirk start to form on her face.  
  
“I - I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” Bilbo stammered out.  
  
“I’ll drop you off there, and if there’s nothing there, you can wait.” Lobelia told him, and without waiting for her nephew’s agreement, sauntered down the hall. Bilbo was now beginning to worry. He had trusted Beorn that he would give him the proper directions to get to Hogwarts. What if he had fooled Bilbo after all? He would have to find out for himself. And he hoped that he wouldn’t have to wait in the Faded Cliff Forest all alone for who knows how long…

  


Six days later, just as she had promised, Lobelia borrowed a cart and pony from Fulrad Fairbairn, one of the neighbours at the bottom of the hill, and woke Bilbo at dawn to start on their way to the forest. Bilbo put his cauldron, books, and robes into the back of the cart, and Lobelia began to drive, most probably deliberately slowly. What should have been a two-day journey full of excitement for Bilbo turned out to be a silent journey that was full of worrying. He read and re-read Beorn’s directions over and over again until he had memorized the password and knew that Beorn had said that the carts would be leaving from Oakenmond at one hour before noon exactly, no earlier or later. Lobelia said nothing to him, only stopping to buy small meals and for one nights sleep in the middle of a corn field, and kept glancing back to check that Bilbo had not fallen out of the cart at any point. As they entered Faded Cliff Forest on the early morning of September 1st, and began to trek towards the centre on foot, Bilbo became extremely worried. There was no sign of any type of city around the large cliff in the centre of the forest or on top of it, and Lobelia seemed all-too pleased with this. As he lugged the cauldron further on, Mithril flapping along behind them, night began to turn into sunlight, and he could see the large cliff in the middle of the forest. Lobelia stopped as they came into the clearing.  
  
“See? There is no Oakenmond. Just the cliff, and the forest. Do have fun at Hogwarts.” she said with unmistakeable glee in her voice that Bilbo would not be going anywhere. And she turned back and left Bilbo standing beside the cliff in the early morning sunlight.  
  
He waited for a sign of some sort, maybe someone else from Hogwarts, Beorn himself, his aunt to come back and take him home, but nothing came. An hour had passed, and the sun had just slid into position above the trees, shining down on Bilbo so that he had to squint just to look in the distance. He slunk behind one of the trees out of the sunlight, and set down his cauldron and books on the forest floor. He knew it - Hogwarts had been too good to be true. Now he would have to wait until someone came for him, or worse.  
  
“Awfully quiet this year, isn’t it?”  
  
Bilbo snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a woman’s voice calling out from behind his spot in the trees. It was a calm voice, low pitched and plummy, and could be heard over the sounds of people walking through the forest - people! He was not alone in this forest, there was someone else here after all. Bilbo’s first thought was to jump out from his spot and ask the woman and whoever else might be with her if there was another way to get to Hogwarts, but decided it would be better to not accidentally scare her and her company.  “Usually packed with wizards and witches at this time. Do you think they’ve gone in the other way?”  
  
“Mum, it doesn’t matter.” A boy’s voice now came from the same place. Bilbo heard him step on top of a stick and break it.  
  
Bilbo just had enough time to duck behind a tree when the whole group emerged from the forest behind him. There was indeed a woman, short and possessing thick dark hair and a short beard on her chin, with a round body that was wearing witch’s robes. Behind her were two Dwarven boys, both the same height as the woman and wearing sheepskin vests, one blonde and the other brown-haired. The boys were obviously older than Bilbo, seeing as the blonde one already had facial hair stubble appearing on his chin. Both carried cauldrons and the brown-haired one had a raven on his shoulder. From also out of the forest came two other Dwarven boys, both of which looked Bilbo’s age and height, one with a large green jacket and another with a brown leathered hat on his head. All five walked directly past Bilbo, not noticing he was there, and stood in front of the face of the cliff. Mithril crowed behind Bilbo and his heart stopped for a second, but the Dwarves took no notice.  
  
“Now, what’s the password this year?” the woman asked, walking up to the cliff and placing a hand on the stone.  
  
“Gamut meliku.” the blonde one told her, stomping his foot to get dirt off of the boot.  
  
“Right, right.” The woman turned herself around, and Bilbo saw what she was standing in front of was no longer a face of a cliff, but a large Dwarven door with newly appeared lines and runes on it. “Gamut meliku.” the woman stated, and the door began to open into the cliff. Bilbo could not get a good enough look of what was behind it from where he was, and wished the Dwarves would leave so that he could go inside.  
  
“You first, Fili.” The woman had turned back to her company, and pointed at the blonde boy.  
  
The boys looked at each other with confused looks on their faces. “He’s not Fee, I am!” exclaimed the brown-haired boy.  
  
“Really, and you say you’re our mother?” the blonde one said to her, sounding annoyed.  
  
The woman sighed. “Oh, Valar. Sorry, Kili.”  
  
The blonde boy picked up his cauldron from the ground, and stepped towards the open door. He turned back to his mother before walking inside. “I’m joking, I am Fili.” And he ran into the open space, shortly followed by his brother, both laughing madly as they ran down and disappeared from sight. The woman sighed, and turned to the boys left standing. “Let’s go now. The carts are just behind here.”  
  
“So we just walk in?” the boy with the hat asked her. “That’s right, right, Dís?”  
  
“Yes, dear. Now come on.”  
  
But Bilbo couldn’t wait much longer, and burst from his spot in the trees. “Excuse me?” he shouted, louder than he had meant to and noticeably startling Dís.  
  
“Yes?” Dís asked him as he approached her, her voice immediately rising two pitches as she saw him. Mithril fluttered down from his perch on a tree branch to the handle of his cauldron. The boy with the green jacket quickly stepped away from the raven as it did so, and moved closer to the boy Bilbo could only assume was his brother.  
  
“Is that the way to Hogwarts?” Bilbo asked her, heart racing for a reason he knew not.  
  
Dís laughed a fluttery laugh. “Oh, is it you first year?” Bilbo nodded, feeling sheepish. “No need to worry, dear. It’s these boy’s first times as well.” She motioned to the two boys who looked up at Bilbo. The one with the green jacket smiled slightly, and the other gave a wide grin and nod. Though Bilbo could tell this was meant to make him feel more comfortable, all it did was make him feel that this was a simple task he should be able to do, without help from a stranger and her family. “They’ve probably known about this tunnel for years.” Bilbo thought. “And I’ve only known about just magic for a month!”  
  
“The carts are just inside the cliff. It leads to Oakenmond station. Best to go inside at a bit of a run, there’s bugs in that tunnel.” Dís motioned to the tunnel.  
  
“Good luck.” the boy with the hat said to Bilbo with a light laugh.  
  
“Don’t be like that, Bofur. There’s nothing to worry about.” Dís reassured him.  
  
Bilbo stared into the tunnel. He could see light from inside it, but it was hard to believe there was a station inside the cliff. Still, it was the only lead he had about how to get to Hogwarts, and he felt it might be his only way.  
  
“Quickly, now, it’s almost time.” Dís told him, and Bilbo braced himself and took off into the tunnel, Mithril fluttering fast behind him.  
  
She had been right, the tunnel was dark, and Bilbo could see a lot more spiderwebs than he was comfortable with. As his bare feet hit the stone ground beneath him he tried to think of something else besides the tons of bugs that were most probably surrounding him. Mithril was flapping along behind him, cawing and occasionally brushing against his shoulder. Bilbo could see the light of day at the end of the stone passageway getting brighter, and he could now make out people and bodies standing around. He ran closer, and closer, until the tunnel stopped abruptly, and he was blinded by a shining light meeting his eyes from all directions.  
  
Bilbo almost fell over in spite of himself. What was appearing to his eyes was something unlike he had ever imagined would be hidden inside of a cliff, and more what he thought could make up a small town. Panting for breath, he moved aside from the tunnel as the two Dwarf boys and Dís dashed through, Mithril perching on his shoulder with an annoyed nip at the Hobbit’s ear.  
  
He was standing in a clear, grassy land, with walls of the cliff itself surrounding them. Above was the ceiling, tall and dark, but with floating balls of light that illuminated the entire area. It couldn’t have been bigger than a farmer’s field, and the entire station was basking in an early morning sunlight. He stood among a rush of people, tall and short, some carrying cauldrons like himself and some chatting with others. Bilbo saw them rushing over to a long, long line of conjoined wooden carts that stood in the middle of the station, all with grey coverings. The carts themselves Bilbo could not see, but as far as they went it looked as if they could fit nearly a hundred creatures in each.  
  
“This must be how we get to Hogwarts.” he thought, spotting a large sign that hung on one of the inner cliff walls saying ‘Oakenmond Station’. He chuckled as he thought of Aunt Lobelia, saying it did not exist, and if he knew how to draw he would prove it all to her.  
  
A tall Man, suddenly stepping out from the large crowd of wizards and witches, blew a horn that made Bilbo’s hands jump to his ears. “All those going to Hogwarts should begin their departure. Quickly, please.” he stated with a rather deep voice Bilbo did not expect to come from him. Many of the younger creatures standing around began to climb forwards to the carts, saying goodbyes to parents and promising they’d all write. Bilbo, not wanting to miss this for the world, walked forward with the crowd, blending in best as possible. He could no longer see Dís or her sons in the crowd, only assuming they would be getting on the express as well. As he began to step into a cart near one end of the line, he thought to himself how lucky he was, to be leaving The Shire at last, to be truly special, and even more special than he had originally thought. He was, after all, the one who lived...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dictionary:  
> Laa: No (Elvish)  
> Ingole: Magic (Elvish) (so it literally means ‘no magic’)  
> Gilim: Light (Dwarvish)  
> Gamut meliku: Good travels (Dwarvish)


	7. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I'm back. Sidenote: I might be updating less frequently since I'm gonna get a lot busier in the next month.

Among the bustle of all the Hogwarts students scurrying to the carts for a seat, Bilbo was one of the first to get inside one of the carts. Upon entering the first cart, he gasped quietly, seeing that it was much bigger than what had met his eye at first. The carts looked as though they could seat five large Dwarves comfortably in each compartment, and the grey coverings above rose high above the seats. Each had an oil lamp hanging down from it that students were knocking into as they got to their seats, plunking down cauldrons and luggage beside or below them, talking with their friends about the summer.  
  
The queue of students wanting to get on had elongated in the few seconds Bilbo stood staring at the carts, and had started grumbling behind him. Bilbo quickly picked up his cauldron and scuttled down the wooden-board hallway that had been attached for them. Nearly every cart he passed was already full of students and their pets, a few talking calmly but mainly all laughing loudly. Bilbo kept his eyes from catching theirs, a trick he had learned to avoid awkwardness with his aunt, and hurried to the seats at the opposite end of the line. To his luck, no one was to be seen in the second-to-last cart, and he heard something come shooting down the hall just as he ducked inside. A student had set off a firecracker, and was now laughing madly with their friends as it exploded into wonderful colours of red and blue.  
  
He sat down on one side, placing his cauldron on the bench opposite, and was beginning to wonder about how they possibly could have made regular wooden carts so large with magic when he heard his name being spoken. Bilbo paused mid-thought. Someone was talking about him. He stood from the seat to look down the hall, and saw only students with their friends. They couldn’t possibly be talking about him, Bilbo thought, they barely even knew him. So he ducked back inside his empty cart and peered out of the folds in the grey coverings.  
  
“Mum, I really think it was him.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Fili. Bilbo Baggins? At Hogwarts? Besides, what does the poor boy matter to you?”  
  
It was Dís, Dís and her four sons who were talking about him. Bilbo gulped as he saw the two tallest, Fili and Kili, leaning out of the folds in their cart, just four away. The younger two were looking out a different cart, closer to Bilbo, and staring intently wide-eyed at their brothers.  
  
“Think about it, mum. How long ago was the defeat? Eleven years, right?” Kili was telling Dís. “That’s the Hobbit and Man age. He could really be here, going to school at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Do you think so?” asked the younger redhead.  
  
Kili nodded, but Dís shook her head. “So if it is? What are you going to do, get his shield? The boy is eleven. Leave him be.”  
  
Bilbo did not know what she meant by ‘get his shield’. “Must be a Dwarvish expression.” he thought.  
  
“Now enough. You’re leaving soon.” Dís said to the four boys, Fili and Kili grumbling. She handed them each a book she had under her arm. “You left these ones at the house.”  
  
“Ready for your first year, boys?” Fili said to the younger boys, patting the dark-haired one’s hat. He wriggled away, pushing Fili’s hand off.  
  
“Yes, first year!” Dís said excitedly, which gave the boy a face that Bilbo recognized from far away as a face you give when you’re being patronized. “Oh, I’m so sorry your parents couldn’t be here, boys. Your mum says she wishes she could see you off.”  
  
“Tell her I said it’s fine.” the dark-haired one said. So he wasn’t Dís’s son, and neither was the redhead. Bilbo became confused at this, but remembered soon he too wasn’t with his parents. Or any of his family, for that matter. “Did Bifur say anything this time?”  
  
Dís shook her head. “No, sorry dear. He’s most likely too busy to write.”  
  
“Or still recovering.” mumbled Fili. Dís heard him, and shot him a strong look.  
  
“Your mother did say something about taking you to visit them at winter break this year.” she said to the young boys. “I’ve never been to Moria myself.”  
  
“Neither. Only mum, dad, and our cousins.” the boy said, trying to avoid eye contact with Dís.  
  
“Oh, yeah, we’ve heard of there.” Kili smirked at them. “Supposed to be cursed.”  
  
The boy opened his mouth to say something, but Dís took the space instead. “Fili, Kili, behave yourselves this year.” she told them. “I don’t want one letter home, do you hear? If I hear that you’ve gone and blown up a school toilet, or anything like that…”  
  
“We’ve never actually blown up a toilet, mum.” Fili said.  
  
“But who knows, maybe this year…” Kili smirked.  
  
“Boys.” Dís frowned. “You’ll need to be setting examples for Bofur and Bombur.”  
  
“Mum, they’re twenty-one. I think they can take care of themselves.” Kili groaned. “But we could help in some ways.”  
  
“Bombur, say, would you like to learn how to blow up a toilet?” Fili asked the redhead. Dís promptly smacked him on the head with one of the books she was holding.  
  
“No one’s going to be blowing up anything. You’re twenty-three, get ahold of yourselves.” she told Fili and Kili, both who were laughing under their breath. Bilbo had to remind himself that Dwarves age slower than Hobbits when Dís said ‘twenty-three’, for he had lost his breath for a moment there, thinking they were shape-shifters or some other.  
  
The horn sounded again, and everyone in the hallway started going into carts and compartments. Dís tried to keep her stern look at Fili, but was starting to loosen up.  
  
“Don’t cry, mum. We’ll send you a toilet seat.” Fili said to her. But Kili had reached into his coat and taken something out from it. He handed it over to Dís.  
  
“I’ll be back, and I won’t do anything stupid. I promise.” he said to her. “We’ll all be back. Them too.” he gestured to the younger boys, who were already disappearing into their cart.  
  
Dís held up a tiny stone in her hands. “Just do well. I want them to do well just the same. Tell them that, can you?” she asked in a voice much quieter than when she was scolding him.  
  
Kili nodded, and he too disappeared into his cart. Bilbo closed up the folds and sat back down on his seat. Mithril was perched next to him, pecking away at the wooden bench. The horn sounded once more, and the carts began to move. Students all leaned out of their carts to wave goodbyes to their parents, the parents waving back. Bilbo watched as the carts began to move forward without any horses pulling them forward, through a now-transparent cave wall, and saw Dís waving as they sped up, the sunlight getting brighter and brighter, until they had left Oakenmond station.  
  
There was no telling where they were now, because it was certainly not the forest. They were travelling across a large plain, filled with rocks and boulders that the horseless carts were somehow avoiding. The scent of fresh grass filled Bilbo’s nose as he took a deep breath in. He instantly had hundreds of questions that he knew could most probably not be answered. How fast could the carts go? Had this been on the other side of the cliff all those years? And how long would it take them to get to Hogwarts, wherever it was? Either way, he knew that he was going now farther out from The Shire than he had ever been before, away from all the troubles with his aunt and the oddly plain neighbours near his home. He did not know where on earth Hogwarts was and how long the journey would be, but, supposedly, he could wait.  
  
And he had been waiting in silence for five minutes when someone knocked on the side of his cart. Turning his head, Bilbo saw the boy with the hat that Dís had been with, standing in the wooden-board hallway with his cauldron by his side, also filled with supplies like Bilbo’s was. His expression was bright, with a mix of nervousness and eagerness that Bilbo recognized all-too well from seeing Fili and Kili speaking with their mother just before.  
  
“D’you mind?” he asked Bilbo. “Ones I came with kicked me out. And everywhere else’s full.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “Oh, not at all.” He reached over to take his cauldron off of the opposite bench as the boy stepped inside, looking around the cart as if he were looking at a new room, and placing his cauldron very gently on the floor. As he sat on the bench opposite where Bilbo was now trying to think of how to make a good first impression on the first Magic folk his age Bilbo would meet, Mithril crowed and flapped over to where the boy was sitting, landing on his shoulder.  
  
The boy gave a small sound of surprise as Mithril pecked at the strands of hair that had been left out of his braids. “This yours?” he asked, staring at the bird rather than Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo laughed lightly. “Yes, it is actually. Sorry about him, he can be a bother.”  
  
But the boy didn’t seem bothered by Mithril at all. In fact he seemed to be very happy with the raven perched on his shoulder. He let Mithril peck away happily without hurrying to brush the bird off. “Does he happen to have a name?”  
  
“Mithril.” Bilbo told him.  
  
“Really?” He took the bird off his shoulder and placed it onto his hand. “Where’d you hear that? For the name, yes.” He was now studying Mithril as if he was a precious gem. In this moment, Bilbo recalled reading in one of his schoolbooks that Ravens and Thrushes were considered very important animals to Dwarves.  
  
Bilbo shrugged. He wondered if he should be telling him that he had already met one of their teachers before the school year had started. “Just heard of it somewhere, I guess.”  
  
The boy nodded, and whistled a low note. Mithril fluttered off of his hand and back to where he had perched beside Bilbo. “My name’s Bofur by the way, son of Tarvem.”  
  
“I’m Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins, but I don’t really know who’s son I am.” Bilbo returned, noticing his mistake in forgetting so quickly that his name was legend in the Magic world when Bofur’s eyes widened at the sound of his last name.  
  
“You are?” he asked incredulously, staring at Bilbo with a face of shock. “You’re Bilbo Baggins?”  
  
Bilbo suddenly felt himself go very red in the face. “Well, I suppose that is my name, after all.” he tried joking.  
  
Bofur gave a small laugh in disbelief. “Valar, they were right.” he whispered. Bilbo did not need to ask to know that he was talking about Fili and Kili’s discussion with their mother outside. He was not supposed to have heard that, so he kept quiet. “So then,” Bofur lowered his voice. “do you really have it?”  
  
“Have what?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“The, erm…” Bofur pointed to his forehead.  
  
Bilbo nodded, knowing that this was not likely to be the last time a student would ask to see his scar, and reached up to push his curls away. There was the bird-feather scar he was famous for, defeating a dragon when he was younger than a year old.  
  
Bofur stared at the scar intently, interrupted only when the cart went over a bump, causing both boys to fall forward in their seats. An audible squeak came from one of Bofur’s pockets as they readjusted themselves.  
  
“Oh, right.” He reached into his pocket and brought forward a large grey mouse in his hand. Bilbo had never actually seen a mouse before, and was confused as to why he had such a small squirrel as a pet. “This is Uomuth. He was my cousin Bifur’s, but now he’s mine.” The mouse did not seem particularly happy to have been inside a pocket for so long, and was making a squeaking noise that sounded familiar to Bilbo as the sound his door used to make. Bofur noticed the confused expression on Bilbo’s face. “Pretty pathetic, isn’t he? Fili and Kili taught me a spell that’ll turn him yellow. Wanna see?”  
  
Bilbo nodded, still not knowing what creature Uomuth actually was, but happy to see that the topic of interest was not on his face and leaned forward. Bofur placed Uomuth on the side on the bench and took out his wand. It was quite a lot smaller than Bilbo’s, and had a pattern of square lines all around it, not to mention a few dents and scrapes in the wood itself. The Dwarf cleared his throat with a small cough. “Alright. Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow…turn this stupid fat rat yellow.” He pointed the wand at Uomuth, and Bilbo waited for a large spark to emit, but nothing happened. Instead, the wand made a sharp hissing sound, making Uomuth jump from his place on the bench onto the floor.  
  
Bofur sighed, and leant over to pick up Uomuth, who had not turned shades in the slightest. “Should’ve know that wouldn’t work.”  
  
Bilbo watched as he took off his hat and placed the rat onto it. “Sorry asking, but what exactly is that?”  
  
“Uomuth?” Bofur responded. “He’s a mouse. You don’t know?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head, feeling oddly embarrassed. “They’re not a common sight around Hobbits.”  
  
“Lucky. They’re real annoying, always running around streets and in kitchens. Well, rats are, at least. Mice are really more household things. Wish I had a bird like yours.” Bofur grumbled.  
  
“Oh, it was a gift.” Bilbo told him. “From a, um, a friend.”  
  
Bofur nodded in understanding. “We do have a bird. It’s Dís’s raven, she just uses it for mail.”  
  
“Who named it?”  
  
“I think that was Fili. Called it Brafan, after, well, that I don’t know.” The cart went over yet another bump in the road, and Bilbo shifted over. “Kili’s taking her this year. I might get her for my second year, if I’m lucky.”  
  
Their conversation went on for a while, Bofur talking most about what his brothers had told him Hogwarts would be like, as well as explaining magical terms and other customs that he brought up to Bilbo. Bilbo told him about how his aunt had never known he was Magic, and that she kept throwing the letters away. Bofur thought it funny as well that she would try and chase down ravens. Apparently, Bofur’s letter came late, and Dís worried for days on end that he would be a Squib (non-magical child with magical parents, something Bilbo thought to write down).  
  
The sun had rose to it’s midday position and they must have had to been talking for at least an hour when the carts stopped. Bilbo opened the covering flaps and saw that they were no longer on a grassy plain, but on the top of a mountain stretch. The ground below was made entirely of stone, and the air was colder than it had been when they left Oakenmond. “We must be at least fifty feet above ground!” Bilbo thought to himself.  
  
“Why’ve they stopped?” he asked.  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Probably something to do with food.” It was then Bilbo remembered it had been hours since he had breakfast. At this rate, skipping meals all over the place, Bilbo thought it very possible he would forget what it was like to eat like a proper Hobbit.  
  
“They give out food here?” Bilbo said, looking away from his mountain-top view.  
  
“Ah, it’s probably only snacks. Not to complain, though. Don’t Hobbits eat something around six meals a day?”  
  
“Seven, actually.” Bilbo told him, now fully aware of how hungry he was.  
  
They waited a couple of minutes, and nobody in the other carts seemed to think anything was to worry about. They did come running down the halls again, some of them with pastries in their hands that just made Bilbo jealous and hoping that the stop did have something to do with food after all. After around a little while longer that had Bilbo thinking of how many meals they would serve at Hogwarts, a small woman came down the wooden hallway. In front of her she pushed a large trolley, with quite a lot of pastries and boxed food on it (much to Bilbo’s happiness). “Do you boys want anything off the trolley?”  
  
Bofur shook his head. “No, thanks though. I’m already set.”  
  
But Bilbo was still staring at the pastries in front of him. He knew that they must be in the last cart, and also knew he had some of the wizard money still in his pocket from Gringotts. Quickly, he fumbled around and pulled out five gold pieces and seven silver ones. “We can take it all, if that’s allowed.” 

  


As it turned out, they could. Bofur had watched in awe as the woman gave them all she had left on her trolley, took Bilbo’s money (which could apparently buy quite a lot), and headed back without a comment. Shortly after the carts had set in motion once more, and the two were happily eating away. Bilbo was of course, familiar with most of the pastries and breads they had, but was unfamiliar with the boxed foods and candies. As it turned out, wizards had their own brands and types of candies Bilbo hadn’t come across in Diagon Alley, such as Cauldron Cake, Caramel Cobwebs, Liquorice Wands, and Fizzing Whizzbees that Bilbo learned made you levitate by eating one.  
  
At the moment, Bofur was making his way through a box of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans and explaining them to Bilbo as he went along. “See, when they say ‘every-flavour’, they really do mean it.” he said as he had a brightly coloured green one that gave him a sour face. They had been travelling for at least another hour, both without any complaint, and were now (by Bilbo’s check) splashing through a swampy moor.  
  
Bofur tossed Bilbo a packet of the beans. “There’s some ordinary ones, like cocoa, lemons, and strawberries, but there’s some pretty odd ones in there too. One time Kili swore he had one that tasted like a troll’s foot.”  
  
“I’d hate to know how he knew that.” Bilbo suggested, picking out a small red bean. He put it in his mouth, and found to his surprise that it did not taste awful.  
  
“What’d you get there?” Bofur asked him.  
  
“Raspberry. You?”  
  
“Honey. Not horrible, but it’s sticking to my teeth.”  
  
Bilbo laughed, and took out a blue one with white spots all over. Upon chewing on it, he gagged. The taste wasn't anything like he had expected to find in a candy.  
  
“What’s it? Dirt? Soap?”  
  
Bilbo swallowed with a great effort. “I think it’s salmon. And they don’t actually make dirt flavoured ones, do they?”  
  
Bofur shrugged his shoulders. “Probably do. Worst one I ever had, I swore, it tasted like a dirty cloth.”  
  
Bilbo put aside the beans, not wanting to have any candy that tasted like dirty clothes. He rummaged around in the stock of foods and candies beside him (both Mithril and Uomuth were chewing away on gummy candies inside the pile), finally deciding on a pentagonal shaped blue box. As he brought it out and went to open it, Bofur looked over. “Oh, don’t open that.” he told Bilbo warily.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“It’s a Chocolate Frog.” Bofur told him. “They jump all over the place. Only good thing about them’s the Wizard Card.”  
  
“Wizard Card?” Bilbo questioned.  
  
“They’re for collecting. Each one’s got a different famous Magic person on it. I have some at home.” he said, eating another flavoured bean.  
  
Bilbo was curious anyway, and began to prop open the cardboard top of the box. As it came loose, he held his hand above the box and took the top away. Inside the box was indeed a frog, much smaller than the bullfrogs and toads Bilbo was used to. He saw it move its head, and moved his hand slightly further from the box. “Bofur, they’re not real frogs, are they?”  
  
“Just a charm.” he said, still only focused on a now lesser-full box of flavour beans.  
  
So Bilbo took his hand away, reaching down to pick it up, but as he did the frog jumped right out of the box. Bilbo made a grab for it, but it jumped again, this time onto the folds of the coverings, and before Bilbo could do anything it disappeared through the folds.  
  
“Doesn’t make sense much, putting charms on things you mean to eat, does it?” Bofur wondered aloud. “Anyways, who’d you get?”  
  
Bilbo picked up the box again and turned it upside-down. A pentagonal card fell out, and he turned it over. On it was the face of an old man, with a long grey beard. He was wearing grey robes and a hat as well, and was smiling up at Bilbo. Bilbo, having no idea who it was, showed it over to Bofur.  
  
“Oh, that’s Gandalf.” Bofur told him, like it was nothing interesting at all. “I’ve got around six of his. I was hoping you’d have Phielnemé, I don’t have any of hers.”  
  
Looking back at the card to put it away into his cauldron, Bilbo saw that Gandalf’s face had disappeared. “He’s gone.” he said with surprise, tapping the card a couple times to see if that would do anything.  
  
“Well, what do you expect?” Bofur said. “You don’t think he’ll stay there all day?”  
  
Before Bilbo could say anything, there came the sound again of someone walking down the wooden hallway. As the footsteps grew closer, another short boy came into view. Both Bofur and Bilbo looked up as he came to a stop in front of their cart. “Have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Bombur’s lost his.” The boy had vivid red hair that was too short to be done into any elaborate braids, and so was settled into two small ones just in front of his ears. His tired expression made him look like he had been around to everyone’s cart asking the same question, or was at least very put-up with something.  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “Sorry, no.”  
  
“That’d be my brother, actually. Tell him to look with Fili and Kili.” Bofur was still not looking up at the boy.  
  
But the boy’s eyes had wandered over from the two and onto all the food beside them instead. “Good grief, how did you get all that?”  
  
Bilbo held out a Cauldron Cake. “Do you want some?”  
  
“Would you mind?” he asked them.  
  
“No.” Bilbo said, and the boy stepped inside the cart. He sat down beside Bilbo very cautiously to avoid sitting on any food, and tucked his long wool coat underneath him as he did so. He took the Cauldron Cake from Bilbo meekly, and stared around at the food. “How did you get all of it?”  
  
“Just from the trolley a while ago.” Bilbo answered. He fiddled with his coat jacket as he said this, trying to fix the falling button. The boy took notice while he was eating, and stopped.  
  
“Oh, do you need help with that?” he asked. Bilbo stopped and looked up at him, puzzled as to what he meant. “I can fix it, you know. I started learning some helpful spells during the summer to pass time.”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur exchanged wary glances at each other before Bilbo said “Erm, sure you can.”  
  
The boy took out a wand from a pocket of his purple coat, the wand itself very slender and made of light wood. Bilbo leaned back slightly as he pointed it at his coat, and stated in a very clear (and high-pitched) voice “Reparo.” There was a clicking noise and the sound of something being stitched, and when Bilbo looked down again at his coat the button was reattached.  
  
“Th-Thank you. You didn’t have to.” Bilbo stuttered, feeling awkward. Instinctively, he ran his hand through his hair, brushing the curls aside.  
  
The boy put his wand back into his pocket smiling, and when he looked back at Bilbo his face froze. “Oh my.” he said. “You’re Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, not wanting to put himself at the centre of attention. But he ended up not having to worry about that, because the boy went right back to eating his Cauldron Cake. “I’m Ori, if you wanted to know, son of Glori.” He turned to Bofur. “And you are?”  
  
Bofur finally looked up from the now empty box of flavour beans. “Bofur, son of Tarvem.”  
  
Ori looked at him awkwardly. “Pleasure.”  
  
Bofur tossed the empty box to the side. “D’you know what time we’re getting there at?”  
  
Bilbo shifted away from Ori and peered out the the coverings. “The sun looks like it’s lowering. Hopefully soon, then.”  
  
Ori nodded, finishing his Cauldron Cake and standing, brushing the crumbs off of his coat. “We should probably get into our robes, then.” He picked up a Chocolate Frog box and left over to the door of the cart, turning back to look at them. “You’ve got dirt on your nose.” he said to Bofur. “Only mentioning.” And rushing back down the wooden hall, he was gone.  
  
“That felt like a little storm; hit us and left in a rush.” Bofur stated to Bilbo, still staring at where Ori had been sitting just fifteen seconds ago.  
  
Bilbo nodded in agreement. “It does look like we are coming up to some sort of lake outside. Maybe Hogwarts is up here.”  
  
As the carts rumbled along the stony path, both boys peered out of the folds to see a shimmering lake beside them, lit only by the oil lamps outside of their carts. It was a evening full of clouds already, the setting sun becoming obscured from their vision. The land that they were now travelling on was mountainous, and certainly looked like it would be a home to a castle of magical sorts, but Bilbo had no time to see if there was one before the carts entered a stone tunnel, and he could only see the crumbling walls of their new path.  
  
Ducking their heads back inside, they resumed talking, but Bilbo was unable to eat anything due to his newly surfaced nerves. Hogwarts was close, he felt it in his mind, a sense of difference that had come to him soon as the letters began arriving, only this time it was stronger, more definite. And with Hogwarts came a new beginning for him, where he could make himself a new life that would be anything but ordinary. He was already famous in the minds of wizards and witches, he would just have to start there and create himself all over again. This time, not as a respectable Hobbit, but as a wizard.  
  
It was only a while longer before the tunnel ended, and the carts resurfaced back into the world. Night had truly fallen now, the oil lamps illuminating every rock and road in the path. Bilbo and Bofur had taken Ori’s advice and put on their robes (that Bilbo found to be quite drapey on him), and now took the chance to look out the folds once more. They were still in the same land as when they entered the tunnel, but were now coming up to a body of water. The carts were slowing as they got closer, and Bilbo now saw that this was another station, much like Oakenmond was. Two signs stood to the left of where the station was, one pointing left and one to the right. Moving even closer, Bilbo was able to read the signs, reading that left would lead to “Dale: Middle-Earth’s only town populated only by Magical creatures!” and that the right leads to “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry”. Turning his head to see if he could catch a glimpse of the castle, he felt a jolt, and fell backwards into the cart. They had stopped. They were here.


	8. The Castle on the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Sorry this one's coming so late, I just had a lot on my plate since I got back. Hopefully updates will be faster now, but school's starting up soon, and I can't really guarantee much. But, hope you guys are liking what I'm writing so far. My tumblr is thorindefencesquad if you wanna check that out (#spon). Anyways...

The air outside was damp, cold, scented of saltwater and pond lilies. Bilbo inhaled deeply as he stood among the large group of Hogwarts students, feeling all at once the sensation of being splashed with a bucket of seawater. He tucked his hands inside the black pockets of his robes, thinking jealously of Bofur, who was standing directly aside him, wearing wool mittens.  
  
All that Bilbo could see in the distance were mountains. They spread across both left and right, certainly hiding any sort of castle from view. The lake that had given the air it’s saltwater scent was huge, larger than any pond Bilbo had ever run around in Hobbiton. There were no bullfrogs or ducks swimming in it, and Bilbo could only assume that there was a good reason for that, probably living below the surface.  
  
“Where do we go now?” he asked Bofur, who was looking around for a glimpse of Fili or Kili to tell him just that. He shrugged.  
  
“Anyone else knows better than I do.” he told Bilbo. The older students began to shuffle off towards where the sign pointed, continuing chatting as if it was daily routine.  
  
“Should we follow them, then?” Bilbo asked. Before Bofur could answer, a loud voice called out from over where the students were heading.  
  
“First years come this way! First years follow me!” A tall figure stood in the distance, marching forward, oil lamp in hand. Bilbo recognized the figure as it came closer. He had recognized the voice as well.  
  
The crowd had shortened down to only the small first-years, standing in place and waiting for further instruction from whoever was coming. “Let’s go, then.” Bilbo said, and both boys went forward. Now he was the one who knew what was happening.  
  
“First years come this way! First years follow - oh, hello again Bilbo.”  
  
Beorn stood in front of them, his large coat on with black mittens on his hands and rather large boots at his feet. Bofur stared up in amazement at him, the other first years beginning to mutter behind them.  
  
“How d’you know him already?” Bofur asked incredulously. “You barely knew anything about Hogwarts this morning.”  
  
“Um…letters. He gave me my letter.” Bilbo said cautiously.  
  
“Is this all of you?” Beorn looked over the crowd of first years behind Bilbo and Bofur. “Very well. Follow me, this way.”  
  
And so they did, right up to where the sign told them to go and where the rest of the school was heading, but instead of turning to where the mountain met the ground, they began to walk towards the lake. No one asked many questions, and the majority of them were silent as they followed behind Beorn.  
  
“You said he gave you your letter..what’d you mean?” Bofur finally broke the long-standing yet in-place silence by posing a question.  
  
“Oh, well, it more had to do with the fact that I wasn’t getting them at home, so when there was a surge of them all at once-“  
  
“A surge of letters?”  
  
A sudden gust of wind blew in their direction, sending Bilbo’s hair to fly in unruly directions. “Yes, they all came at once.” he continued, reaching up to fix his curls. So he delved into the story of how Aunt Lobelia had driven in a rage to Bree, only to be found by Beorn, who had given Bilbo his letter and set a toad on her. Bofur laughed at that, and before long they had traipsed down to the water to where Beorn was standing next to many poles that had oil lamps attached.  
  
“If you all could wait here for a few minutes, I’ve got to dig out the boats.” he informed them, starting to walk further left to where there were a series of caves.  
  
“Boats?” came a small voice from the back of the group. “We’ve got to go on boats?”  
  
“Unless you’d like to swim.” Beorn replied, looking at the outspoken student, a view surely none of the others could get from their place. He began to move again, disappearing from view, and leaving the rest of the students to themselves once more. But before any more topics of conversation could come up, another voice spoke up from the crowd.  
  
“So the rumours must be true.” it said, and Bilbo felt as if he had heard the voice somewhere before. “There’s fame come to Hogwarts.”  
  
It was someone Bilbo had seen before, though not explicitly. He had been inside Mx Habban’s with him in Diagon Alley, and now Bilbo was coming to remember a conversation they had been having about Hogwarts. He’d said it was his first year, hadn’t he? As he stepped out from the crowd with two other students around his height and just with the same long hair, Bilbo felt a chill. He was talking about him. Who else?  “Bilbo Baggins, at Hogwarts.” the boy declared, and a wave of surprised muttering washed over the first-years. Bilbo felt his cheeks go very red.  
  
The boy himself gave off no sense of evil, or wrongdoing in the making. Simply, he gave off a sense of…perfection. Unachievable perfection, and seeing that gave Bilbo a tinge of fury and distrust. He assumed the same feeling was magnified on Bofur, who was glaring straight at him.  
  
“My name is Legolas Greenleaf, Thranduil’s son.” he told Bilbo. Bofur snickered beside him.  
  
Legolas gave a glare at him, making Bofur’s expression fade very quickly. “Don’t laugh. Perhaps I should be giving you the same treatment. Short height, second-hand robes, and here by your lonesome.” He smirked. “You must be one of the Urs.”  
  
“I’ll have you know he’s not alone.” Bilbo interjected.  
  
“Don’t bother.” Bofur told him. “He’s an Elf.”  
  
Memories of Glóin complaining about Elf customers came back into Bilbo’s mind, and suddenly he realized that he had stumbled into a feud between Elves and Dwarves that must have spiralled back many ages. “Oh.” was what he did say when it dawned on him that he should not be putting his feet into this argument.  
  
Another gust of wind whipped through the air. Saltwater blew from the lake into a few faces, but everyone remained silent, watching as the Elf continued on. “Your friend is mistaken.” Legolas turned back to Bilbo, his expression still calm and collected. “In what he thinks of me. Already you’ve gotten mixed up into the wrong groups. You’ll want to make good friends, with the right people.” He extended a hand, pale and slender. “I may be able to help you there.”  
  
But Bilbo already knew he didn’t want a friend in Legolas. “I think I can decide who the right people are myself, thank you.”  
  
Legolas opened his mouth to say something else, his collection turning to surprise at the fact that Bilbo had not agreed with him, but Beorn had returned, and coughed loudly. “Boats are here. Five in each, please. Don’t go pushing yourselves into the water, either. I might not come back for you.” No one knew whether or not he was joking.  
  
Legolas’s friends turned the Elf away from them and into a boat of their own. Bilbo pulled Bofur into another empty boat, not wanting to make any enemies on his first day.  
  
“Elves.” Bofur began muttering, still angry over the insult. “Think they can say whatever they want to whoever. Just ‘cause they’re supposed to be ‘all-wise’ and what. Know what I say?”  
  
“What do you say?” Bilbo sighed, finding a spot on the boat’s middle to sit as a brightly haired student joined them with a friend.  
  
“I say they’re ishmeti.” Bofur went on. “Airheads. Old ones, too. That whole long-life must make them go off their heads.”  
  
The redhead and their friend stared up at him. “Who’re you talking about?” the redhead asked. Bilbo could see the tips of pointed ears beneath their hair.  
  
“Oh, no one in particular.” Bilbo answered before Bofur could say anything. Another boy joined the boat, not bothering to look up at any of them, and all fell silent once more.  
  
“All in?” Beorn called out. “Alright then. Try to stay in the boats best as you can.” And without another word, the boats began to move away from the rocky shore and onto the vast and dark lake.  
  
Bilbo had never been on water this large before, much less seen it. Of course he had played in Hobbiton’s ponds as a child, but they were certainly not big enough for boating. And now he was going across the lake, wishing he had thought to bring warmer clothes, and looking out on the surrounding mountains for hope of seeing Hogwarts anywhere in the distance.  
  
“Isn’t there supposed to be a sea monster in here?” the redhead’s friend asked, and Bilbo’s peacefulness was interrupted.  
  
“Taraneth, if that’s what your sister said, then you know she’s wrong. Neira hasn’t been here for years.” the redhead told her.  
  
“Oh, you’re both wrong.” Bofur interrupted. “It’s not a monster. It’s only a Kelpie. Nothing to fear, really.”  
  
“What’s that?” asked Ruiwen.  
  
“Some sort of shapeshifting horse. Lures you to it by it’s pretty nature. Then it drags you to the bottom and takes its tear at you.” Bilbo felt a shiver pass through his spine.  
  
“I don’t think that makes it much better, erm….” the redhead said nervously.  
  
“Bofur. He’s Bilbo.”  
  
The redhead nodded. “I’m Ruiwen. She’s Taraneth.”  
  
A few boats over there came the sound of excited shouting. All five of them turned their heads to the mountains, and in the distance, could make out a tall and looming tower in the distance. Bilbo’s heart began to fill with excitement. That was surely Hogwarts castle. He was so close, and so very far away from Hobbiton, which he found he was not missing at all.  
  
“Keep it down, won’t you?” Beorn called. “You won’t want to wake the Watcher. You’d be better off without tentacles all over you for the start-of-year.”  
  
Ruiwen went pale. “What’s that?” they asked to Bofur, who was still staring up at the tower ahead.  
  
“Guess I was wrong about the Kelpie.” was all he answered with.  
  
The shouting ceased, and Bilbo found himself staring endlessly at the water as the boats turned left in their path and continued into a narrow stream that’s colour was a deep blue, much less black.  
  
Up ahead was yet another shadow, and it stood on the bank of the water. Bilbo could not make out what it was from this distance, yet he thought he could see a large pair of feet on it’s base. He tried getting a closer look, leaning only slightly out, away from the conversation Bofur and the Elf students were having without him. As their boat passed the statue he thought he saw what was the nose of some creature quite large, and felt as if it’s eyes followed them as they travelled into a larger body of water, behind a large rock.  
  
There were lights up ahead. Bilbo could tell that the oil lamp’s lights were becoming dimmer as they went further down to the brightness. No longer could he see the tower, at least, not on it’s own. There were three towers in his view now, each tall and crooked, just like the shops in Diagon Alley. If only he could see the rest…  
  
“There it is!” shouted a girl, breaking the thick silence. “I can see the castle!”  
  
All heads were turned, all conversation came to an abrupt halt, and everyone held their breath as they moved out from behind the rock, boat by boat. Bilbo, Bofur, the Elf students, and even the boy who had been silent the whole time leaned over the side to get their glimpse of the castle. The boat moved out from the shadow of the rock, and Bilbo’s eyes widened.  
  
Hogwarts castle stood in front of him. It was huge and vast, with towers and grounds standing all across the rocky land which it covered. There were stone bridges, glass windows, everything that made it look magical. Every first-year was staring in awe at the castle before them, not even noticing as the boats drifted over to a small stone boathouse at one of the banks. Bilbo couldn’t take his eyes off it. Already it gave him the sense of home, much more than Hobbiton had ever given. The lights made the air warm, took away any sense of fear he had, and made him feel wanted here. Even as he climbed out of the boats and followed everyone else up the stairs, he kept thinking about what would await inside the castle on the mountain. 

  


Hogwarts was beautiful, and smelled of wax and warmth the second Bilbo set his feet inside the entrance hall, a small hallway with a high ceiling that hid him from the cold night outside. The first-years had been crowded into the area by Beorn, who had departed from them just a minute ago, and left them under the eyes of another teacher.  
  
Standing next to the set of tall wooden doors (decorated with sets of gold leaves and other designs that Bilbo found quite stunning) stood a Hogwarts professor. He stood still, such as a statute, and did not glare nor smile. Judging from his appearance, he was an Elf. That, and the fact that Bofur had been scowling under his breath every time the teacher looked in their direction.  
  
“I thought this was a multi-creature school.” Bofur remarked. “So far I’ve seen nothing but Elves. And one Hobbit.”  
  
“What’s between Dwarves and Elves?” Bilbo asked, quiet enough not to catch the teacher’s ear.  
  
Bofur didn’t answer, rather he gave another glare to the professor. He turned his head. Bilbo saw him look over at them once more.  
  
“I think he saw you.” Bilbo said, tugging on his friend’s sleeve.  
  
The professor stopped his glancing over the first-years. “Good evening.”  
  
The first-years fell silent once more, turning their thoughts and faces to the professor, who now stood in front of the double doors.  
  
“Welcome to Hogwarts.” he said again, stone-faced and calmly. “My name is Professor Elrond.”  
  
“Elf name.” Bofur whispered.  
  
“Just inside these doors, you will find the rest of the school waiting, and their start-of-term feast.” Professor Elrond continued. “Before it can commence, you will be sorted into your houses. There are four, named for each founding member of the school. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”  
  
Ah. So those were the houses Beorn had been telling him about. Bilbo recalled Legolas saying something about Hufflepuff being a Dwarvish house, and Beorn saying that it was nothing more than a house. He had wondered why they would need houses when they would be living in a school. Looking back, the thought had been foolish.  
  
“Here, your house will serve as your family. Classes will travel in their houses, and they will decide your place of rest as well.” Elrond stated. “When the year finishes, the school will award the House Cup to which house has been awarded the most points. Success will earn points. Disobedience and breakage of rules will take them away.” Finally, his expression softened into a small smile. “And if you will follow me.”  
  
The double doors opened, and Elrond led the first-years forward.  
  
If Bilbo had not had his breath taken away by the exterior of Hogwarts castle, it would have been knocked straight out of him at the sight of the Great Hall. It was enormous, with candles floating in midair everywhere he could see. Hundreds of students already sat in four long tables, watching as Elrond and the first-years came through the Hall. No moonlight was being reflected in through the windows, so Bilbo was surprised to see that somehow, moonlight was making it’s way into the Hall through the ceiling. The ceiling reflected a perfectly clear night, stars and constellations clear as day. The moon shone bright above them. Many stared in awe, including Bilbo.  
  
“It’s not actually what it looks like outside.” Bilbo heard Ori’s voice speaking to someone behind him. “It’s charmed to look like that. I read about it this summer.”  
  
Soon enough, the first-years had gone all the way up to where the floor rose, and another table stood, with not students sitting behind it but teachers in much larger chairs. In front of the table was a bronze podium, with a carving of an owl on it. In front of that, even, there was a stool, on which sat an old and rather large hat. Elrond stopped, and walked towards the hat and stool on his own. The first-years stood in a clump in front of it.  
  
“When I read out your name,” Elrond announced, retrieving a sheet of parchment from the sleeve of his cloak. “you will come forward, and sit. I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and it shall tell you your house.”  
  
“They’re trusting a dusty hat with our house?” Bofur asked.  
  
“Maybe it’s charmed.” Bilbo replied.  
  
Elrond rolled out the parchment. “Aldreda, of Duskmere.” he called.  
  
A mousy girl with dark hair stepped forward. As told to do, she sat on the stool, Elrond placing the hat onto her head. It covered her eyes, and was silent. Bilbo watched with nervousness and interest.  
  
After a few seconds, a fold appeared in the hat, and called out “Gryffindor!”  
  
One of the tables of students applauded Aldreda loudly, and she skipped off the stool to join them.  
  
“Charmed.” Bilbo repeated.  
  
“Adney, of Stormmore.”  
  
Another girl went up, sat, and had the hat announce her to be a Ravenclaw. Another person went up, and was called into Gryffindor again. Bilbo had been watching the sorting quite intently, and had forgotten that his name was near the top of the list.  
  
“Bilbo Baggins.” Elrond said.  
  
Whispers began to rise around the Great Hall. Bilbo froze up. He would be in front of the whole school. Suddenly the warmth around him seemed to turn very cold.  
  
Bofur gave him a push forward. “Good luck.” he told him.  
  
As Bilbo took small steps forward, he felt like he was being watched with every eye in Middle-Earth. Professor Elrond stood waiting, sorting hat in hand, eyeing Bilbo with a face of expectance.  
  
“Relax.” he thought to himself. “It’s not the end, yet, it’s just the beginning.”  
  
The Great Hall was derived of all noise as Bilbo sat on the stool. He could feel the first-years watching, with interest in their eyes, just as he had been. Professor Elrond did not do anything different than he had done for the first two students. He placed the hat over his head, and it fell over his eyes, turning his view of the Great Hall to a view of nothing but dark.  
  
“Hm.”  
  
The sound echoed around Bilbo’s ears. He made to lift up the hat to see who was speaking to him, but the voice spoke again before he could do so.  
  
“Ah. A difficult one here, I can see.”  
  
It was the hat speaking. “Can you read my mind?” he thought of asking.  
  
“In a way.” the hat answered. It was silent for a few seconds, before muttering “Hm.” again.  
  
“I can see two different sides to your head, you see.” it told Bilbo, who was becoming increasingly nervous. “A good heart, a brave heart, indeed.”  
  
What did his heart have to do with this? Bilbo wondered again, wanting the hat to answer him but getting no reply. Instead, the hat continued on telling Bilbo his findings. “And you come from the history of the same. Fighters, nonetheless, but loyal, too.”  
  
“Where does that put me, then?” Bilbo thought once more.  
  
“Ah, well, at first, I saw a Gryffindor in you.” the hat spoke. “But also, I can see you doing well as a Hufflepuff. The decision is yours.”  
  
“The decision is mine? But you’re the decider!” Bilbo protested.  
  
“It’s your future. Not my own.”  
  
And so Bilbo thought. He knew nothing about what had guided the hat to think of him as both a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff, he didn’t even know what qualified him to be those. He had been told nothing about what each house required of him, what if it was random or depending. He knew his sorting was already taking much longer than the others. All his future would be stuck here, what he chose, what he was most.  
  
“I don’t know anything about these.” he finally answered. “What makes me a Gryffindor? Or a Hufflepuff?”  
  
“Your loyalty.” said the hat. “You’ve lived among hard workers all your life. You come from their blood. But, your mother…”  
  
“My mother?”  
  
“She was a Gryffindor. Brave, and true. You have her blood. But you also have your own.”  
  
Bilbo could almost hear the silence of the students around him. He wanted to get out from under the hat, to finally be a part of Hogwarts…  
  
“What would you rather be, Bilbo Baggins, what you are or what you wish to become?” the hat posed his last question.  
  
That was easy. “I don’t want to depend on my past anymore. I want to start new.” was all he thought, and not a second later did the hat cry out triumphantly “Gryffindor!”  
  
The Great Hall broke into applause. The hat was pulled off Bilbo’s head by a relieved Professor Elrond, and the light found it’s way back into his eyes. The cheering of the students was louder than it had been for the first two, and as he walked off the stool he caught a glimpse of Fili and Kili, the brothers whom Bofur had come to Hogwarts with sitting at the Gryffindor table, chanting loudly “We got Baggins! We got Baggins!”  
  
He was greeted at the Gryffindor table with many hands outstretched, all saying what an honour it was to have him. He ended up sitting next to Aldreda, who looked very happy to have another first-year at her table. Bilbo couldn’t help but feel finally at home.  
  
The applause had died down. Professor Elrond read from the scroll again. “Bofur, son of Tarvem.”  
  
Bilbo saw his friend nervously walk forward, just as he had done. He found himself feeling anxious as well. What he didn’t want was for him and Bofur to be in separate houses, just hours after they had met. Nothing different happened, Professor Elrond gave him the hat (first taking off Bofur’s own), and then the watchful silence came again.  
  
It had been only a minute or so, and Bilbo was beginning to wonder on what Elrond had meant earlier by a feast when came a sound of agreement from the hat, and it called out “Gryffindor!”  
  
The whole table cheered, Bilbo even more so, and Bofur happily jumped off the stool and joined Bilbo. “Well, hello again, then.” he said to Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo was so relieved that they were in the same house that he didn’t even notice the next sorting, which inadvertently, was Bofur’s little brother, Bombur, who joined them at the Gryffinor table. The siblings conversed in Khuzdul for a few seconds, none of which Bilbo could even begin to understand.  
  
The sorting continued on. An Elven boy named Cîlchanar was sorted into Slytherin, a Dwarf named Dwefu became a Hufflepuff, a Human girl named Grine joined them in Gryffindor, and two more Slytherins were pronounced before Legolas’s name was called.  
  
Bilbo and Bofur watched as he strode forward, not a hint of worry in his eye, and sat down. Professor Elrond lowered the hat, but it did not need to sit properly on him before crying out “Ravenclaw!”  
  
A smug smile became prominent on his face, and the Ravenclaws cheered.  
  
“That’s a true Elf if I’ve ever seen one.” Bofur remarked grudgingly. “They’re supposed to be the wise ones. More stuck-up than all-knowing, really.”  
  
“Lumus, of Hollowgulf” The next one became a Hufflepuff, and then Elrond called “Ori, son of Glori.”  
  
The redhead boy they had met on the train slowly came forward from the first-years. Only now was Bilbo realizing how very small he was, barely noticeable in the crowd of first-years alone. He looked stressed as he sat down underneath the hat.  
  
Ori’s sorting took a rather long time. Bofur and Bombur began talking in Khuzdul again after a while, and everyone else sat in waiting. Finally, after what must have been at least a few minutes, the hat declared “Hufflepuff!” Ori bounced off the stool to join the table beside Gryffindor, and the last ones to be sorted were.  
  
Ruiwen was sorted into Gryffindor, and Taraneth was separated into Ravenclaw. Finally, as the last first-year (Volance of Midcrest) was sorted into Slytherin, Professor Elrond took away the sorting hat as he went to his seat with the other teachers. Bilbo recognized the face of the man Beorn had showed him to in the Black Arrow, Professor Oakenshield, sitting over to the far side of the table. An old, grey wizard sat in the middle of the table, and as he stood the room went silent once more.  
  
“Good evening to you all.” he spoke, calmly and regularly, same as Professor Elrond had when they were in the entrance hall. “And welcome to Hogwarts. Now, before our feast begins, I would like to make a few announcements for our first-years. Firstly, I am Professor Gandalf. Secondly, our caretaker, Radagast, would like to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is off grounds to all students. As well, he would like to say that the right hand corridor on the third floor is also forbidden, to all those who do not wish to die a most painful death.” He smiled. “I would also like to say a few words. Silver! Watercress! Questing! Firemoon! Let the feast begin.”  
  
The students laughed, and as they did, suddenly plates of food appeared on every table. There were all sorts of delicacies out on the Gryffindor table, most of which Bilbo was familiar to, but some of which he had never seen before.  
  
“I guess they don’t call it a feast for nothing, right?” Bofur said to him. “Never seen this much food in my life!”  
  
Not before long was everyone enjoying the feast themselves. The Gryffindors were talking and introducing themselves to each other. Bilbo had been introduced almost the whole table by now, including the head of house, who, interestingly enough, was Ori’s older brother.  
  
“He’s the third one to be in Hufflepuff.” Dori commented. “His elder sister, Kori, and one who just graduated, Bouri. I do hope he won’t be lonely over there. He’s got his sister, Sori, who’s in her fourth year…”  
  
“How many siblings d’you even have?” Bofur asked.  
  
“There’s seven of us altogether.” Dori said, reaching over for a piece of fish.  
  
Bilbo was also welcomed by Fili and Kili, who were overjoyed to be in the same house as him.  
  
“Bet you’re proud of yourself, aren’t you, Bilbo?” Kili asked, taking the leg of some sort of cooked bird. “Gryffindor’s the best house. All the greatest came from it.”  
  
“Sorry about not getting your family house, boys.” Fili said to the brothers. “You’re stuck with us now.”  
  
“Not horrible, not being a Hufflepuff.” Bofur said back. “At least I’m not in Ravenclaw.”  
  
Fili laughed, and went to take another thing that Bilbo had never seen before off the table, but stopped when the sound of wind came by, without any gust.  
  
“What’s that?” Ruiwen asked Dori.  
  
“I was hoping they’d begin to show up.” he answered with, staring to the left. Bilbo turned his head around to the Hufflepuff table and saw, in surprise, a misty figure floating above the table. The Hall was full of them now. Students were gasping in interest all around him as the ghosts floated around the Great Hall. There must have been at least twenty altogether, many up in the air, but a few making conversation with the teachers or the older students.  
  
The ghost of a man dressed in posh clothes glided towards them. “Good evening.” he saluted, stopping at the head of the table.  
  
“Hello, sir Fundinson.” Dori said to the ghost. “How’s your summer been?”  
  
“Oh, dreadful.” the ghost returned. “Soiled by another failed attempt to join the headless hunt. Denied, yet again, can you believe?”  
  
“Sad to hear.” Dori replied. The ghost began to glide away when Bofur got a look of realization in his eyes.  
  
“Hey, wait. Don’t I know you?”  
  
The ghost turned back around. “I should think not.” he said confusedly.  
  
“No, not personally. You’re Balin the Nearly-Headless, aren’t you?”  
  
The ghost stared down at him. “I’d prefer Sir Fundinson, mind you.”  
  
“Nearly-headless?” Bilbo inquired. “You can’t be nearly-headless. It’s all off or none off, isn’t it?”  
  
“Like this.” Balin the Nearly-Headless said, and proceeded to tip his head off - almost. Bofur let out a gasp of disgust and the ghost tipped his head back on.  
  
“Oh.” Bilbo said quietly as Balin the Nearly-Headless passed by them to the rest of the Gryffindor table.  
  
The feasting lasted for a little while longer. The Gryffindors all chatted amongst themselves for a while, about their backgrounds, about Hogwarts, about past years and what they expect the year would hold. The table cleared after a large serving of desserts had been eaten by the students as well, and Professor Gandalf stood again in the student’s silence.  
  
“Very well, now off to your dormitories.” was all he said.  
  
The head of house, Dori, led the Gryffindors out of the Great Hall and into the staircase hallways and rooms. Bilbo was taken aback once more by the sheer size and dimension of where the staircases where, as well as the fact that the stairs tended to move around and change their position more than often. Smiling portraits waved to them, moving around in their frames as well, as Dori led all of the first-years up to the seventh floor. Bilbo walked up many flights of stairs, trying not to trip on any of them, as he wasn’t very accustomed to them, as was having trouble keeping his balance seeing as only few of the staircases had handrails.  
  
They reached the seventh floor at last, greeted by a portrait of a female warrior in battle, raising a bloodied sword to an enemy that the artist had not cared to draw. As Dori and the first-years approached her, she snarled at them. “You have the password?”  
  
“Arcane Philter.” Dori stated, and the portrait swung open.  
  
The Gryffindor common room was magnificent. Decorated with red and gold curtains and maroon furniture, the warmth of an already-lit fireplace gliding to where Bilbo stood, awed, in the centre of the room. The first-years crowded around the common room, staring at everything, from the wallpaper to the brass chandelier hanging with lit candles.  
  
“Alright then, boys dormitories off to the left, girls on the right. Anyone else, you’re free to choose.” Dori informed them, and Bilbo hurried up the stairs on the left, accompanied by Bofur, Bombur, another boy, and Ruiwen (who explained as they ran up the stairs of them being a-gendered, and was therefore free to choose their place of rest).  
  
The first thing the boys dormitory saw as they entered was that all their luggage from the train was already in the centre of the circular room. Bilbo was most pleased to see Mithril fluttering his wings around the room, as the other students chose which bed they would take.  
  
Bilbo dragged his cauldron filled with school supplies and all the extra clothes he cared to pack to the foot of his bed, and couldn’t help but let out a laugh. He glimpsed through the window to the cloudy night outside, so far away from where he had woken up this morning, and felt new senses of joy twirling around inside him - that morning felt so long ago. He watched as Bofur threw a crumpled up cloth at his brother to a fit of laughter, and wondered why he had ever been resigned to being alone.


	9. The Speaking Doors and the Elf Professor

Breakfast the next morning, on Bilbo Baggins’s first day of classes, started out rather awkwardly. As he and the rest of the Gryffindor first-years sauntered into the Great Hall, he was given many stares by the other students. Many whispers followed him down the sunlight-filled hall as he, Bofur, and a Human boy named Liles sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, where they saw Aldreda and Bombur hovered around a scroll of parchment laid out for them.  
  
“What’re you doing?” Bofur asked, peering over.  
  
“Schedule.” replied Aldreda, not taking her eyes off it. “Professor Elrond just came around. There’s one on every table.”  
  
Indeed, Bilbo saw a scroll at the end of the other house tables, each with it’s own crowd of students hovering above them. “What are we doing first, then?” Bilbo asked Aldreda.  
  
“First…we’ve got a lesson on Magical Charms from a Professor Daín…” she read. “Then, we’ve got a lesson on the History of Magic from Professor Angmar…”  
  
“History of Magic we’ve got with Hufflepuffs.” Bofur added. “And after noon there’s a class about Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws.” He shook his head at that.  
  
After all the Gryffindor first-years had taken the schedule into their minds and had a few bites of their breakfast, Bilbo made his way out to find the Charms classroom. Greeted again by the hundreds of moving staircases (“Nearly ‘hundred and fifty, can you believe that?” Kili had told them that morning), he and a few others scampered around the castle, trying to get there on time.  
  
One of the good things about enchantments, Bilbo discovered, was that if placed upon objects that resembled creatures, they could be very helpful indeed. The portraits were happy to guide first-years around, as were some of the ghosts and suits of armour, but of little help was the resident poltergeist, Gollum. A few first-year Slytherins came being chased down a staircase by him, throwing rolled-up parchment and pebbles at their heads. Ruiwen was locked out of a doorway by him, and Bilbo became fool to a trick stair he had set up, falling right through and having to get Bofur pull him out. Eventually, however, they did find their Charms class, and stumbled inside.  
  
The teacher was a stout Dwarf man, with a fiery red beard and a fiery tone as well. Without making any movement he told the first-years to take their seats and proceed to explain what they would be learning for the year.  
  
“Now…I know this’s your firs’ class, but let me tell you…” he began, pacing across the front of the room as he spoke. “I think I know when I say tha’ none of you have ever done any sort’ of magic before now. And I also know that you all’d rather be learnin’ Defence Against the Dark Arts instead’ of how to levitate a teacup. But I just want you all to know, that as the firs’-year you are, learnin’ simple incantations such as this…” he raised his wand and gave a flick of it, causing a pile of books to float over to him. “will be more helpful than learnin’ how to banish any sor’ of banshees.”  
  
Their first assignment Professor Daín gave them wasn’t horribly hard - it was to write half a scroll on the importance of charms to them, which was what he talked about all lesson anyways. Rushing out into the hallways for their next class, Bilbo saw Ori, the boy they had met on the train only yesterday, being taunted by the poltergeist.  
  
“Looks like Ori’s made a friend.” Bofur said, chuckling. But they had no time to be standing around, risking being Gollum’s next victim, and so they headed down back to the endless maze of staircases for History of Magic.  
  
But that proved to be difficult as well. What with all the changing staircases and ghosts to avoid and adding on the different directions they had been given by the portraits, Bilbo, Bofur, Bombur, and Ruiwen, found themselves lost, on the third floor, with no signs of any students around whatsoever.  
  
“What floor did the schedule say it was on?” Ruiwen asked, out of breath and coming down the thirty-third flight of stairs they’d taken that day.  
  
Bilbo shrugged his shoulders. All the doors around him were closed, and he was beginning to worry about Gollum coming for them around the corner. “It seems that this castle’s majesty hides quite a lot of confusion.” he thought.  
  
“Maybe through this one.” Bofur suggested.  
  
“Locked.” Bombur responded.  
  
Bofur cursed. “Well then how are we supposed to get anywhere?” He looked around for a second. “That’s your cue, isn’t it?” he said loudly at the surrounding portraits. But they stayed silent.  
  
Until Bilbo heard a giggle.  
  
“Who’s that?” he asked, whipping back his head to see if anyone stood there.  
  
“Only I.” said a voice.  
  
All of them gave a short intake of breath before turning on their heels to stare at a large portrait of a Dwarrowdam in the place of where a door should be. She looked very much so like Dís, Fili and Kili’s mother who had been at the train station. Her hair was dark with a matching beard, and all the colours surrounding her were shades of royal blue. The painting gave another giggle as she saw them staring at her.  
  
“Who’s ‘only I’?” Ruiwen asked her. The Dwarrowdam giggled again, not moving an inch as she did.  
  
“I, who sits in the artist’s finest work, unable to move, and unable to irk.” Her voice was honeyed, sounding very Hobbit-like, and she spoke to them in rhyme.  
  
“Why’re you doing that?” Bofur inquired, himself sounding very irked.  
  
The painting giggled yet again. “You mean to say that you haven’t heard of me? Well, you haven’t take your class on jinxes yet, I see.”  
  
Bombur gave a sound of realization. “Oh! It’s a Sphinx Charmed Portrait!” When everyone looked down confusedly, he added “It’s been enchanted to tell riddles.”  
  
“Right you are, the young Dwarf is! You should be thinking on that knowledge of his.” the portrait told them.  
  
“The rhymes come with the riddles.” Bombur informed them again.  
  
Bilbo cleared his throat with a small cough. “Excuse me, well, miss, but could you by any chance just give us some of the way to the History of Magic classroom?”  
  
The portrait did not respond. Her whole body staying perfectly still, she swivelled her small green eyes around the empty staircase corridor. Upon staring back at them, she spoke in a colder manner. “My name, to be clear, is Elmira Elfenstone, and that information is-"  
  
“Better known.” Ruiwen interrupted. Everyone looked at them, and they turned cherry. “Sorry, I just thought I’d speed things up.”  
  
The charmed portrait of Elmira Elfenstone was appearing to be no help at all, and by now they were surely late for class. Bilbo wondered if the next professor would be less forgiving than Daín about his students being late, and if he would be receiving a detention on his very first day. “Miss Elfenstone, do you know how we can get to the History of Magic room or do you not?” he asked again, more irritated upon his thoughts about what punishments he might receive if they let her squabble here a minute more.  
  
“I’m afraid where you’re looking to is located very far, but perhaps you might find other ways to get there, and there are.” Elmira Elfenstone said, hinting onto them of a passageway. “For I work as a door, as well as an art, open only to those who are cunning and smart.”  
  
“What d’you mean?” Bofur asked, also irritably.  
  
Elfenstone laughed, for the first time moving her head. “Answer my riddle, and I’ll let you go, of course! These are the rules we all have to enforce! Passageways are all about! But we can’t go letting you in and out.  
  
“I was chosen to be a gatekeeper by a fool with a wand, but my dearest son was chosen to never wander on. Our kind was grieved and moaned for long ago, but now we are stuck in time, and never able to grow.  
  
“My soul is free and restless, for my skin I never wear. My tales are endless, and I tell with warning and fear. Not all the endings have been ended, some are only in their middle, and mine has been charmed here and has been told to tell a riddle.  
  
“Some of us could drift straight through, some of us must just sit here and let our talk spew, but we are all in common somehow, what with our souls and bodies around, this creature is the riddle, it can be seen, but never held.” And Elmira Elfenstone fell silent once more, pursing her lips and looking out onto the first-years who stood, dumbstruck, at the portrait.  
  
“That’s…” Bofur began.  
  
“Long.” Bilbo finished.  
  
All of them stood silent for a second or two, before Ruiwen broke the silence. “Are we guessing or not?”  
  
“Three guesses is all I can offer, I’d rather let you go sooner so you’ll continue to prosper.” Elfenstone added.  
  
“That’s sheer bollocks!” called a new voice, not from around Bilbo, but from above him. His eyes looked to another portrait on the landing above them, that of a rather old man holding a lyre so that it appeared he was playing it. His painting was more withered down than Elfenstone’s, and his face was oddly ghostly, with his pale complexion and dark eyes. Bilbo couldn’t help but shiver as he stared at them.  
  
Elfenstone scoffed. “And what you might have to say about me? Your business isn’t the matter here, I can agree.”  
  
The portrait of the man sighed. “Your rhymes are getting worse, Elmira. And your riddles aren’t exactly up to spot, now.”  
  
“What’s he on about?” Bofur asked Bilbo, but he didn’t know either. All he could see was two portraits arguing.  
  
“Who exactly are you?” Bombur called up. Elfenstone stopped mid-insult.  
  
“Edwarde the Elegant, thank you very much.” he responded, his tone snappish.  
  
“Are you Sphinx Charmed too?” Bombur asked again.  
  
“Me?” Edwarde sneered. “No. I’m only a passage, like your friend Elmira here, except without the petty rhyming and riddling. I'll lead you to the Prefect's bathroom, if you need it.”  
  
“Petty?” Elfenstone gasped. “I’ve never heard such insult in my life! Why must you always have to go and start a strife!”  
  
“Her riddle’s answer is easy, you know.” Edwarde told them. “Grieved and moaned for long ago, how long did it take you to think of that, Elmira?”  
  
The riddle. Bilbo had forgotten that they would have to be answering that. By now they must have missed at least a quarter of the class just by standing here.  
  
“Grieved and moaned for long ago…” Bilbo thought back on what Elfenstone had said, oh, what had she said? “Her tales were endless, and she told with warning and horror, no, it was fear, or was it with a leer?”  
  
“Any thoughts on the riddle?” he asked aloud. “I can’t remember much of it.”  
  
“Something about souls.” Bofur said, ignoring Edwarde’s latest insult to Elfenstone. “And she said something about her son.”  
  
“Elmira!” Ruiwen called. “Elmira!”  
  
“What is it you have to say? I don’t want to keep you here all day.”  
  
“You said something about your son. What happened to him?” they asked.  
  
Before Elfenstone could answer, however, Edwarde did. “Killed in action, Whitt Elfenstone was.” he told them. “A sword through the chest one fine day in Dol Guldur did the trick just fine.”  
  
“How dare you speak of my son that way!” Elfenstone shouted. “He was never meant to die, he was meant to live another day!”  
  
“Died.” Bilbo whispered. “He died. Is that the answer?”  
  
Bombur shook his head. “The last part said it was a creature that could be seen but not held.”  
  
“Any other ideas, then?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“You can see a Kelpie, but shouldn’t hold it.” Bofur said.  
  
“No, it’s that it simply can’t be held at all.” Ruiwen told him. “What gets grieved for?”  
  
“Something lost?” Bilbo tried. “You can’t hold that. It’s not there.”  
  
“Well that must be it, then!” Bofur exclaimed. He turned to Elfenstone, who was in the midst of silence. “I’ve got the answer. It’s something lost.”  
  
Elfenstone looked away from Edwarde and back at the first-years. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, but you are close. The answer’s flying right under your nose!”  
  
Bilbo sighed. They were never going to get it. If they were close, that gave him a little bit of hope, but not enough.  
  
“Elmira?” Ruiwen asked again. “Is your son in the castle with you?”  
  
Bilbo wondered what that had to do with anything while Edwarde answered for Elfenstone yet again. “The boy’s soul is stuck in his last battle, still. Not worthy enough to the Valar to be taking him, really.”  
  
Elfenstone shrieked back at him once more, but the first-years didn’t care to hear it. “So he’s a ghost, then?” Bofur said. “He’s stuck where he died. That’s what a ghost is, isn’t it?”  
  
“Her son isn’t the riddle, Bofur.” Ruiwen said. “It’s what you can see but never hold.”  
  
“Is it?” Bilbo asked. “There was a lot in that riddle. I think they were clues.”  
  
“So her son, the grieving for, and the souls were all extra?” Bombur asked.  
  
Bilbo was starting to put pieces together. Grieved and moaned for long ago meant that they had been lost, but in the past, so that no one would remember grieving for them. And the talk of her son, how he had been chosen to ‘never wander on’ and Edwarde saying he was a ghost, that made sense too.  
  
“My soul is free and restless, for my skin I never wear…” Ruiwen quoted, and it seemed that the same pieces were coming together in their mind as well. “She’s a soul herself, imbedded in the portrait, but her son is a soul, stuck in the place where he died…”  
  
“We can see her.” Bilbo said. “We can see the ghosts here too.”  
  
Bofur let out a gasp. “I’ve got it!”  
  
“I think we have too.” Bilbo said.  
  
“Has anyone ever walked through a ghost before?”  
  
“I have.” Bombur told his brother.  
  
“Exactly.” And with that he turned back to Elfenstone. “The answer’s the dead. A ghost, if you want specific.”  
  
Bilbo held his breath. Elfenstone was silent. Then, her portrait began to move. It opened, like a door, to a dark hallway lit by a single torch. “Go to your classes, you’ve answered it right. Use my passage again, if I’m ever in sight.”  
  
“Thank you, miss Elfenstone.” Ruiwen said happily, and bounced through to the hallway and into the darkness, disappearing as soon as they got to the wall.  
  
The rest of them hurried inside, touching the wall and finding themselves travelling through the darkness, on and on and on, until they stopped, and saw a plain door in front of them. Pushing it open, they found their way into a hallway filled with dim lights, and ducked into the classroom they had finally made it to. 

  


History of Magic, was, ironically, taught by a ghost. Professor Angmar didn’t even notice that four Gryffindors had stumbled into his class fifteen minutes late, sitting at desks at the back of the room, he just continued on his speech about Dwarf-Lords and Kings of Men. Ori, the Hufflepuff, sat at the front, and sighed heavily when he saw the Gryffindors come in. Bilbo noticed he was missing his scarf, which he concluded had been taken by the Gollum the poltergeist while he was chasing Ori.  
  
It also turned out to be incredibly boring, mostly because Angmar never stopped talking in his horribly monotone voice, and also because the topic itself was mundane. Bilbo mixed up Manwë and Melkor more than once in his notes, and couldn’t figure out how to spell Taniquetil. By the end of the class, he had to shake his feet out of their uncomfortable sleep and head towards the Great Hall.  
  
The rest of the day was uneventful. Transfiguration was taught by Professor Elrond, and he gave an assignment for them to learn how to turn a Knut into a needle, before demonstrating turning his desk into a birdcage. The Ravenclaws were in that class with them, and were not overly friendly to the Gryffindors. Of course, Legolas figured out how to do it within minutes, while Bilbo’s Knut had only become skinnier. Bombur wasn’t quite getting the hang of transfiguration, either. Somehow, he managed to send his Knut whizzing around the classroom and hitting the students heads non-stop until Elrond could catch it with a small net.  
  
Bilbo got lost again on his way to Herbology the next morning, and arrived at greenhouse number one with Bofur ten minutes late, both of them covered head to toe in cobwebs, seeing as they had found another passageway down to the greenhouses (the answer to the portrait’s riddle was ‘an idiot’). Professor Hilda deducted 10 points from Gryffindor for that, and gave them extra homework on the difference between poisonous and venomous. (Ori informed them on what it was when he heard them complaining after class).  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts was what everyone had been looking forward to, and their first lesson didn’t disappoint one bit. Professor Oakenshield, whom Bilbo had been introduced to already, had a very interesting past, filled with encounters with the dark arts that he told them all about when they first sat down. The classroom itself looked like it certainly was inhabited by someone of interest, from the dragon bones hanging from the ceiling to the swords in glass cases Professor Oakenshield had hung on the wall. Though he didn’t learn much the first day except for how to banish a clan of Orcs with only two jinxes that he could not perform, it became Bilbo’s and the rest of Gryffindor’s favourite class soon enough.  
  
The week went on. Bilbo and Bofur got lost twice on the way to Astronomy on Wednesday, and had fallen asleep in History of Magic on Thursday. Friday came around, and the day’s schedule sat at the end of the Gryffindor table yet again.  
  
“Let’s see, now…” Ruiwen read. “Herbology with the Slytherins first, then Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs…oh, and finally. Double Potions with the Ravenclaws last.”  
  
Bofur groaned. “Elf study, Elf classmates, Elf teacher. Why’m I supposed to take this?”  
  
“It’s required until your sixth year.” Aldreda told him. “Then you can take as many Dwarf classes as you please.”  
  
Just then, a bird swooped down into the Great Hall. Bilbo looked up and saw a flock of ravens and thrushes flying in from the windows. No one seemed alarmed by this, however.  
  
“Mail delivery.” Bofur said. “Did you send your raven?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. He hadn’t sent Mithril out since he’d gotten here. He’d put him in the post room where all the other birds were, since there really was no one who’d send him mail.  
  
A large black raven flew down towards where Bilbo was sitting. It landed right in front of where Bombur was, and dropped a small package beside his hand.  
  
“Dís sent you mail!” Bofur said to his brother. “What d’you think she sent?”  
  
Bilbo watched Bombur open the package, and a glass sphere fell out.  “Oh, I know what that is!” Aldreda exclaimed. “It’s a Remembrall. It turns red inside when you’ve forgotten something.”  
  
But the inside of the sphere had already been filled with red smoke as Bombur held it. “The trouble is, I don’t know what I’ve forgotten.”  
  
The day went on, Herbology passed and so did Defence Against the Dark Arts (in which they learned the Jelly-Legs Jinx), until the Gryffindors headed downstairs to the potions classroom. It was located in the dungeons underneath the lake, where the floor was cold and the air smelt of the sea. Every step Bilbo took he heard echo, and he must have seen at least five ghosts float past by the time he got to the Potions classroom.  
  
The Ravenclaws were already there, sitting at desks of stone with their cauldrons out and their inkwells set aside. Bilbo squeezed into a desk at the side of the room, trying to stay out of eyesight of whoever the professor would be.  
  
Him and Bofur were talking about what would happen if the classroom flooded because of the lake when the door at the back of the room opened, and everyone fell silent as a tall Elf wearing long robes strutted to the front.  
  
“Put away your wands, you will not need them.” he told them, stepping to face them. His voice was soft but dragging, and it had a certain note of unpleasantness Bilbo had not heard from an Elf so far. “Welcome to Potions class. I shall be your teacher. You will call me Professor Thranduil.” He placed a thick book onto the desk. “I should hope you all have your books.”  
  
The Ravenclaws hurried to put their cauldrons away, and Bilbo took his copy of Magical Drafts and Potions out from under his arm. Bofur was already scowling beside him.  
  
Professor Thranduil looked around the class, staying as still as a stone, his overly fancy robes covering the ground beneath him. Even though the light of the room was dim, Bilbo saw the piercing look in his eyes, and felt a shiver.  
  
“I’ve been assigned to teach you the complex and precise art of potion-making.” Thranduil began. “This study is ancient, and respectable to some more than others.” He stared over at Legolas, who was listening with a smirk on his face. “Only few of you will master this. You will find, in your later years, that learning Potions is not only useful towards your grading, but even useful for finding the difference between life and death.”  
  
“Wish he’d shut up.” Bofur scoffed. “I’ve had enough of Elves in my life already, and it’s only been a week!”  
  
“What is with you and Elves anyway?” Bilbo asked, turning his attention away from Thranduil. “I get that it’s history with the Dwarves, but why does everyone take it so personally?”  
  
“However, it would be even more useful if some of us would try to pay attention.” Thranduil said, and Bilbo stopped. Thranduil was staring straight at him.  
  
“I’m, I’m sorry sir.” he stuttered. “I was just explaining-.”  
  
But Thranduil held up a hand. “Enough. It seems that you, Bilbo Baggins, think that my explanations are not good enough. Years of my knowledge do not add up to your seconds of fame, do they?”  
  
Bilbo was taken aback. “Sir, no, that wasn’t what I meant.” The professors hadn’t mentioned his past before.  
  
“Do tell me, Baggins, if you think you know more than I do, what happens if I added the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”  
  
Bilbo, not knowing the answer in the slightest, stayed silent. The silence of the potions classroom was enough to make the air colder than it already was. Taraneth, sitting just behind Bilbo, put her hand up. Thranduil pretended not to notice.  
  
“You do not know?” Thranduil continued to focus on humiliating Bilbo. “We can try again. Where, Baggins, would I look I you told me to find me a bezoar?”  
  
Taraneth put her hand up again, but Bilbo still found no answer in sight.  
  
“I don’t know, sir.” he said quietly.  
  
“Very well. And then what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Bilbo thought he saw a smirk on the professor’s face.  
  
Taraneth put her hand down, finding that hopeless as well, but there was no change in Bilbo’s answer.  
  
“I’m sorry, professor. I don’t know.”  
  
Thranduil leaned over the desk, so close that Bilbo could see the green in his eyes. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything, is it?” He stood up, and returned to the front of the class. “Turn to page 12, the cure for boils. And Baggins, do try and pay attention.”  
  
After the class finished, Bilbo and Bofur climbed the stairs up from the dungeon. “What kind of a teacher is that?” Bofur exclaimed. “He can’t be up to anything good like that, can’t he?”  
  
Just as Bofur said this, Bilbo felt a twinge of pain on his forehead. He reached up to rub his bird-feather scar. “We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”


	10. The Youngest Seeker in a Century

“Have you heard? We’ve got flying lessons on Monday. They’re gonna teach us to fly!”  
The notice had been posted on the common room board while the Gryffindors were sleeping, along with a copy of their schedules. First-years had crowded around it, and were now chattering away about what a flying lesson would teach. Godelina Greyfoot, a first-year girl had announced it to anyone who didn’t see, as they sat at breakfast in the Great Hall.  
  
“We’re getting taught to fly?” Bofur said, speaking with a mouth full of toast. “Well, that is a change from what Fili and Kili learned in their first-year, then. I don’t think they can levitate.”  
  
“No, not levitation.” Godelina informed him, sighing. “With broomsticks. I think we’re gonna learn to play Quidditch!”  
  
“What’s that?” Bilbo asked her, putting down his quill he had been writing with. It was a Sunday, with a beautiful September breeze and floating clouds in the sky outside, yet Bilbo had been working on his History of Magic essay on how Elven crafts were a crucial part of the first age. So far he had nothing except a sentence, stating that jewels have always been important to middle-earth, something he had seen Ori write down in the library yesterday. The first-years had already been given so much homework by all their professors, Bilbo wondered how on his life he was going to keep up with it all.  
  
“Right, I’d forgotten you had a Laa-ingole family.” Bofur said, looking over at Bilbo’s essay. “That’s for Angmar, right? Say something about the Mithril forgers in the first age in it, that might be something.”  
  
“Mithril’s a Dwarven craft.” Bilbo sighed, pushing his parchment and quill away. “So, what’s that thing you said they were going to teach us again?”  
  
Godelina looked up from whispering something to Aldreda. Aldreda giggled, and Bilbo could’ve sworn she had her eyes on him as she did. “It’s a game you play on brooms. There’s Chasers, who try and pass the Quaffle, Beaters who knock around the Bludgers, and a Seeker that catches the Golden Snitch. A hundred and fifty points if they do, and ten points per goal.”  
  
“I don’t think he has any clue what you mean, Gode.” Aldreda chortled, and Bilbo felt quite dense, for she was right. So far, coming to Hogwarts from no knowledge of magic at all hadn’t been the greatest he thought it was for those coming from a magical family. He had heard the first-years talking with their friends on what classes their brothers and sisters liked best, the third-years telling stories about the ghosts and creatures in the surrounding forests and lakes of the ages old castle, but had nothing to say about them himself. It had only been Bofur so far who had been informing him on this new and strange world he’d been pushed into.  
  
Bofur nodded. He turned to Bilbo, leaving the girls to their excitement about something called the Slegunt Sluggers and someone named Shuraih Wildcolt. “Don’t worry, Quidditch isn’t something you need to know anyways. First-years don’t get to play on the team.”  
  
Just as he said this, someone tapped Bilbo on the shoulder. Both boys looked behind them to see Ori standing there, looking annoyed. “I…I’m supposed to give you a message.” he said breathlessly.  
  
“From who?” Bofur asked.  
  
Ori gave him a look. “It’s for Bilbo Baggins.” He looked back to Bilbo. “It’s from Beorn. He wants you to come and visit him later today. He says you can bring your friends if you want to. It’s down by the forest, if you didn’t know.”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur looked at each other, thinking on what to say. “Do you know why?” Bilbo responded.  
  
Ori sighed. “I don’t know. He just told me to go and tell you. Something important, I might think.”  
  
“Tell him it’s alright, then.” Bilbo said. Ori turned to leave to the other Hufflepuffs, but Bilbo called out “And ask him when!”  
  
“What do you think I am, a thrush?” Ori said back, and huffed off towards his house table.  
  
“Wonder what that was about.” Bofur returned to his toast, not pressing any sort of conversation further. Bilbo reached for his essay. It had to be done sooner or later, and by the state of his knowledge of Elven crafts, it looked like it would be done later.  
  
Bilbo and Bofur decided that they should probably go down to Beorn’s hut after breakfast, since the topic of conversation might be something of importance that he didn’t want to miss. So they grabbed what they needed, Bilbo taking his scarf and History of Magic essay (which was now four sentences long), Bofur taking another piece of toast, this time with jam, and heading out down to the grounds.  
  
The day had just the right kind of early fall weather; its wind rushing through the branches of the trees, sending their red and yellow coloured leaves falling to the cobblestone path of the courtyard. Bilbo had only been out here once, for getting from the Charms classroom to Transfiguration on time, and had looked down at the valley below the wooden bridge connecting both grounds.  
  
The valley seemed endless, even seeing it now, with grass such a shade of green it looked like it was still June, and great oak trees growing beside patches of wildflowers. Perhaps creatures lived down there, as well, ones that were too unhappy to live in the Forbidden Forest, what with all the darkness and malicious feeling about it.  
  
The hobbits of the Forbidden Forest, they might be, and Bilbo chuckled to himself just thinking of them. He thought of a Centaur tending flowers, and a Troll complaining of wild geese, just as his aunt used to. Passing over the valley on the wooden bridge, Bilbo felt the breeze rush through his hair, smelling of crisp autumn air and nutmeg found in a pantry somewhere far to the east.  
  
“Beorn has his hut down here, right?” Bofur asked as they stepped onto the ground on the other side of the bridge. To his right Bilbo could see the towering and lopsided building that he knew to be the post tower. As well, he could see a pitch with standing wooden towers further right. On the left seemed to be nothing, except a downward slope from the apparent hill they were standing on, and a few upstanding stones with ravens perched atop.  
  
“It’s near the forest, isn’t it?” Bilbo pointed to the looming trees visible at the bottom of the hill. “Ori said it was down by the forest.”  
  
“Right. He did, right.” Bofur nodded, and they began to trek down the hill.  
  
“Why d’you think he wants to see you?” asked Bofur, trying to get one of the stone-perched ravens to land on his arm.  
  
Bilbo shrugged. “Maybe he just wants to say something about my lessons.”  
  
“I doubt that.” Bofur said, raising his arm higher. “Maybe he wants to teach you spells, or show you how to tame a Griffin! That’d be pretty worth asking you out of your spare time.”  
  
Bilbo knew that the probability of Beorn teaching him any sort of spells or beast-taming was very low, seeing as Beorn hadn’t been keen on using magic in front of Bilbo before. “My guess is still on the lessons.”  
  
As they reached the bottom of the hill, Bofur still having no luck with the ravens, they found themselves facing a rather small wooden house just on the edge of where the Forbidden Forest began to grow. Bilbo saw Beorn’s coat hanging on a hook beside the door, next to a large pair of boots and crossbow leaning against the wall. Bilbo knocked twice on the door.  
  
The loud bark of an animal made Bilbo jump. He could hear scratching from inside, and a voice saying “Get back, Galard, get back now.”  
  
The door opened a crack, and Beorn’s face appeared. “Sorry about him. I said, back, Galard.”  
  
He swung the door open and motioned for both boys to come in. Bilbo stepped inside cautiously. The hut was only one room wide, with meat and bones hanging from the ceiling, and a bucket of hot water swirling itself away on the counter. The only seat to be found was on a windowsill, as the large bed at the back wall took up majority of the room.  
  
A large white dog-like creature stood beside the door, staring at Bofur as he entered, looking around at the place as well. “Sorry about him.” Beorn said, folding up a cloth and taking plates out from a cupboard. “He’s half Warg, the attack instinct is in his blood. Harmless, after a while, really.” he added hastily, noticing the terrified look of Bofur’s face. “Who’s this?” he asked Bilbo.  
  
“This is Bofur.” Bilbo told Beorn, as he was pouring the hot water into cups. “Why did you want to see me?”  
  
“Didn’t Ori tell you?” Beorn handed each of them a cup that burnt Bilbo’s hands to hold. “I didn’t think they could get any more of the Ri children to come here, but it seems they can. How’re your lessons going? I just wanted to hear from you, all.”  
  
Galard trotted forward and nipped for one of the flaps of Bofur’s hat. Bilbo told Beorn about his last Charms class, in which he had managed to push a pebble a few inches forward with a charm Daín had taught them, as well as how History of Magic wasn’t his best subject. He wanted to ask if Beorn knew anything about the importance of Elven crafts in the first age, but didn’t want to come across as dim for the second time that day. Both Bofur and Bilbo were pleased to hear that Beorn thought nothing good of Professor Thranduil.  
  
“Snotty, he comes across as. Always thinking he has the better end of things, knows everything and everyone else is too unworthy to learn it themselves.” Beorn scoffed, putting little rock cakes on a plate and offering it to them. “I don’t take a liking to his son, either.”  
  
“Legolas?” Bilbo asked, taking a rock cake and biting into it, nearly breaking his tooth as he did so.  
  
“Yes, him. The whole family’s got a reputation for being snobbish. I don’t think much of the castle caretaker, either. Radagast, his name?”  
  
Bilbo nodded. He’d only seen Radagast in the corridors last Wednesday, polishing a portrait frame with a hare at his feet. He didn’t look quite happy to be doing it, and Bilbo thought it best to simply edge away from him at the time.  
  
“That hare of his, always following me around. I can’t stop him, either. Radagast trains it so.” Beorn sighed, moving a piece of parchment on the counter. It hung just barely out of an envelope, and Bilbo’s eyes wandered towards it, where he saw something written in rather dark ink that drew his attention.  
  
'There was a attempt at thievery at Gringotts just the other day, it read. Someone tried to steal from Vault 194, but it had been emptied before. They haven’t caught the thief yet. I can’t help but worry if this has any dark motives.'  
Vault 194…hadn’t that been the vault Beorn had taken the parcel from? Someone had tried to steal whatever was in it, but of course they’d had no luck, it had already been taken. Beorn had asked Bofur about his cousin who was in Moira, all the while Galard attempting to make Bofur’s hat his new chewing toy, so took no notice in Bilbo’s silent pondering. What was so important in that vault that someone else would want to steal it? Was that even what the thief had been looking for? He read the letter again. 'I can’t help but worry if this has any dark motives.' The parcel seemed to be worth more than Bilbo thought it was at first.  
  
They stayed with Beorn for a while longer, telling about how they found the Sphinx-Charmed Portraits in the castle and how Professor Oakenshield was going to teach them how to repel a water beast next, but all Bilbo could think about was the attempted thievery. Had Beorn taken the parcel at just the right time? Did it really have anything to do with dark forces? Bilbo wondered all this as him and Bofur trekked back to the castle for lunch, thinking on if Beorn knew something about it that he did not. 

  


Monday came with excitement and impatience, the first-years all huddling around at breakfast, talking with exhilaration about the flying lessons. Of course, they weren’t to take place until after lunch, yet it was all anyone could focus on all throughout Herbology and Defence Against the Dark Arts, despite Professor Oakenshield’s rather interesting lesson on the wand movement to stun an opponent. When the clock chimed to mark the end of lunch, first-years from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw marched down to the grass courtyard, with the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins heading to the lawn opposite.  
  
“You reckon they’ll let us try out Quidditch moves?” Godelina Greyfoot asked Bofur and Bilbo, as they came off the bottom staircase. “Oh, I’d love to learn how to beat away a Bludger! My sisters only let me play as Chaser at home.”  
  
“I’ve heard the teacher is a five time Quidditch champion!” Aldreda bounced up behind them. “Her team won the Quidditch world cup four years ago!”  
  
The girls erupted into Quidditch talk again. “She’s got no idea what she’s talking about.” said Ruiwen to Bilbo. “More likely it’s another teacher they got to teach an extra class.”  
  
They stepped out into the midday sunlight. The yard was right at the foot of the castle, and Bilbo saw a path dividing two halves of green, each with about a dozen broomsticks lying on them.  
  
“Gryffindor! Hufflepuff! Over here please!” called a young woman’s voice. She stood at the end of the left lawn, wearing a long cloak that went down to her toes, drooping at the sides of her small figure. Godelina and Aldreda gasped behind Bilbo.  
  
“That’s Sigrid Adoness.” Godelina said. “She used to be Seeker for the Dale Dryads!”  
  
Bilbo knew nothing of her or her previous team, so ignored Godelina’s comment, and walked to the pitch of brooms. He stood behind one beside Bofur and Bombur, seeing Godelina and Aldreda take spots right next to Sigrid Adoness.  
  
Everyone fell silent in anticipation. Adoness looked surprised at this. “Oh. Well, I’ll start then. Good afternoon, class.”  
  
“Good afternoon.” they chimed back.  
  
“Welcome to flying lessons. My name is Madam Adoness, and you’ll be calling me just that.” she peered around at the students, some looking utterly bored, some looking very attentive. “Today, we’re going to start with the basics. Everyone has a broomstick in front of them?”  
  
The class nodded their heads, looking down at the second-hand brooms lying at their feet. If Bilbo hadn’t had the abilities of brooms in the magic world explained to him, he would have been staring at them confusedly, much as he had been doing since he’d gotten here.  
  
Madam Adoness raised her hand over the broomstick. “Now, I want you to place your hand overtop of it, like so, and say ‘up’.”  
  
A chorus of ‘up’s came from the class. Bilbo said it once, and the broomstick flew up to his hand. He tried to hide a smirk as the rest of the class continued to say the command, their brooms either staying still or fluttering a few inches above ground.  
  
“Firmly, make sure you say it firmly.” Madam Adoness told them. Only a few had actually managed to take ahold of their brooms, not including Bofur, who was shouting “Up! Up, with you!” to little effect, unless you counted its sudden lifting and whacking him right in the nose. Bombur wasn’t saying it quite loudly enough, Bilbo could only hear a whisper of ‘up’ coming from him, along with a hint of fear that said he wanted to leave the broomstick exactly where it was.  
  
“Moving on.” Madam Adoness sighed. The rest of the class who had not succeeded in magically lifting their brooms grabbed them up from the ground. “You’ll need to grip your broomstick, like this,” she demonstrated on her own. “and mount it. Hold on tightly, you won’t want to slide off when you’re in the air.”  
  
She walked around, correcting their positions. Bilbo was given full instructions on how to properly sit atop the broom, and Bofur stifled a laugh when Madam Adoness told Legolas he’d been doing it wrong his whole life.  
  
When they were all properly and safely mounted, Madam Adoness returned to her own broomstick. “Now I’m going to count to three. When I do, you should kick off the ground, softly, very softly. Float above for a few seconds, then come back down. Alright then, one, two, and three.”  
  
But Bombur, who had been appearing nervous ever since they got down to the yard, panicked, and kicked off hard, sending his broomstick straight up in the air. Ruiwen gasped as everyone’s heads turned to the sky, where the younger Ur brother was now twelve feet in the air.  
  
“Come back here!” shouted Madam Adoness, but her voice fell on ears too far out of earshot. Bofur called up something to his brother in Khuzdul, and Bombur looked back down at the ground. Bilbo ran through options in his head of what to do, but too late - the broom came crashing to the ground, Bombur with it, making heard a loud CRACK as he collided with the grass.  
  
“Move! Quickly, out of the way.” Madam Adoness hurried to where Bombur lay face-first on the ground, and Bofur rushed off his broom as well. The two hunched over him as the rest of the students began to whisper to one another, Ruiwen looking quite pale.  
  
“Should we…” they began, but Bilbo did not hear. He heard Madam Adoness mutter something about a broken wrist, and helped Bombur to his feet.  
  
“All of you are to stay on your feet until I get back.” she announced. “If I so much as see you pick up your broomstick, Professor Gandalf won’t hear the end of it anytime soon. You, can stay here.” She told Bofur, who was still staring white-faced at his brother, who was hiding his face behind his arm. And with that she stalked off to the hospital wing with Bombur in her wake.  
  
All was silent until she had left, when a silkly voice broke the silence. “Did anyone else see the Dwarf’s face?” Legolas said, letting on a smirk. “He couldn’t manage to stay upright on the ground, who would have thought he could on a broomstick?”  
  
Bofur’s worried posture switched immediately to brandishing his fists and the beginning of what sounded like a curse word in Khuzdul, but Ruiwen stepped in. “Hold your mouth, Legolas.”  
  
“Ruiwen, don’t. He’s just a Dwarf. Not worth it.” Taraneth, Ruiwen’s friend from the boat in Ravenclaw said.  
  
“Oh, look.” Legolas said, and darted forward towards a shining object hidden in the grass. He had just picked it up when Bilbo realized with a sinking feeling what it was. “It’s a Remembrall. Wonder who that could belong to?” he said with fake questioning in his voice.  
  
“That’s my brother’s, you pale-faced rat!” Bofur snarled through his teeth.  
  
Legolas only laughed. “I ought to leave it someplace he’ll be sure to find - perhaps, up a tree?”  
  
The Ravenclaws giggled, but Bilbo had had enough. “Give it over.” he stepped forward and demanded, feeling much braver than he really was.  
  
Legolas stared down at him. “Then, why don’t you get it back, Baggins?” And he stepped onto his broom and shot forward into the sky. Bilbo was surprised, he could fly very well, but Bilbo wouldn’t let him get much further away. He grabbed his broomstick.  
  
“Don’t even think about that.” Ruiwen protested. “You’d be getting yourself into far too much trouble, I won’t let you-“  
  
“Go get the brat, Bilbo!” Bofur called out. Bilbo mounted his broom and kicked off, flying away with a jolt. Before he knew it, he was far up in the air, zooming towards Legolas, who now floated atop his broomstick, Remembrall in hand. Bilbo felt the air whip through his curls, his robes fly out behind him, the blood rushing through his head as he whirled around to face Legolas, not even knowing how he did it all.  
  
“I said, give it over!” Bilbo shouted. He could hear people gasping and cheering down on the ground, but he kept his gaze on Legolas, who’s proud expression was wavering. Without another word, Bilbo shot forward, and felt a rush of confidence. This was something he could do, without any confusion or need of help.  
  
Legolas seemed to panic, and called out “Go and catch it, then!” before throwing the Remembrall far out into the air. Bilbo’s eyes saw it fly through the air towards the castle, and rushed for it. The glass ball begin to lose height, and started falling down towards the group of first-years that had gathered below of all houses. Bilbo had no time, and he swerved down after it.  
  
Sticking his hand out, he grabbed for the Remembrall, catching up to it’s descent, hearing worried gasps from below, seeing the grass get nearer and nearer. Bilbo sped up, not thinking about what would happen were he to collide with the ground just as Bombur had, and took a swipe for the Remembrall. He felt the glass ball in his hand, and saw the ground only a foot below his broom, swerving up so fast his head became dizzy. His feet met the ground shortly after, and he dismounted to cheers and clapping from the students. Ori smiled in disbelief, Ruiwen screamed in celebration Godelina and Aldreda simply looked shocked, and Bofur rushed over, squeezing Bilbo by the shoulders and nearly lifting him back into the air.  
  
“You did it! I can’t believe you did it!” he shouted. Bilbo’s dizziness began to fade, becoming filled by the sound of all these students cheering in happiness for him, for his accomplishment. He could see nothing of Legolas, nor Madam Adoness, and decided that he deserved this victory.  
  
That was, until two seconds later.  
  
“Bilbo Baggins!” called out the angered voice of Professor Elrond, running towards the first-years. Bilbo’s heart sank quickly as it had risen. He knew he was in trouble.  
  
“Not once, not in all my life, all my years…” muttered Elrond, storming towards where Bilbo stood, still being held onto by Bofur. “Absolutely unspeakable! You could have…where do I start?”  
  
Ori stepped forward. “Professor Elrond, it wasn’t Bilbo’s fault, I watched it all happen-“  
  
“I don’t want to hear it, Glorison.”  
  
“But Professor, Legolas Greenleaf, he-“  
  
“Not now, Duskmere.”  
  
Bilbo heard an airy laugh from behind him, that of Legolas who had finally found his way back to the ground. Elrond motioned for Bilbo to follow him back into the castle, and Bilbo could not protest. Bofur opened his mouth to say something in protest, but Ruiwen silenced him.  
  
Bilbo trudged behind Elrond’s march in silence through the open doors, trying not to think of all the eyes on him. He was headed to expulsion, he knew for sure. Not even two weeks into the school year and he would have to drag himself back to his aunt, where she would laugh at him for thinking he had a chance somewhere else, that he could be special. His heart sank as they headed up the stairs, hanging his head in shame much different than the utter joy he had felt less than a minute before, thinking of leaving behind his friends, never hearing of the rest of their years of magic again.  
  
Professor Elrond stopped outside a classroom on the fourth floor. He pushed open the door to reveal a Defence Against the Dark Arts class taking place, with all students focused on a demonstration that was involving a sword Professor Oakenshield was giving.  
  
“Thorin? I’m sorry to disturb you, but could I ask to borrow Nori?” Elrond asked the now frozen professor. “It’s only for a few seconds.”  
  
Oakenshield nodded. “Of course. Send him back when you’re done.”  
  
Bilbo gulped, thinking that whatever Elrond had called on was one of Oakenshield’s many swords or weapons. But it turned out to be Nori, a small fifth-year boy with a rather elaborate hairstyle.  
  
They stepped out of the classroom, Bilbo feeling smaller than ever before, a mix of his height and his belittlement. Nori stared at Bilbo for a few seconds. “What’d I do this time?” he asked, sighing, as if he had been through this process a hundred times before.  
  
Elrond shook his head. “This isn’t about trouble. Nori, this is Bilbo Baggins.” He gestured to Bilbo. “You’ll be delighted to hear that I’ve found you a Seeker.”  
  
Nori’s expression changed from expecting to bewildered. “You-you don’t mean…really?” His face lit up, looking Bilbo up and down once more.  
  
“His first time on a broom, I haven’t seen anything like it before.” Elrond nodded. “Catching a ball in his hand after diving, not even a cut. Worthy of a Saldaïr.” Bilbo was still perplexed, but less upset, as it didn’t appear that he was getting expelled anymore. He had heard the term Seeker tossed around a few times today, but couldn’t quite recall what it referred to. He wracked his brain for who he had heard it from, when Nori answered his thoughts for him.  
  
“Ever played Quidditch?” Nori asked excitedly, like a child who had just seen the stars for the first time. “I’m captain of Gryffindor team, you know. Just the build for a Seeker…wow. He’ll need a good broom, though.” He was asking Elrond now. “Can you get a Nimbus? Cleansweep Seven?”  
  
“I shall ask Gandalf about the first-year rule.” Elrond said, trying to keep a straight face, but Bilbo could see the expectation in his eyes.  
  
“Bloody well need a better team than last years.” Nori muttered. “Couldn’t go to Potions last year without going red after that Ravenclaw match…you’d better train hard, Baggins, else I could still get rid of you.”  
  
Professor Elrond smiled. “I agree.” Then, he turned to Bilbo. “Your father would be proud of you, Bilbo. I can still recall his flights on the pitch. 

  


“Have you heard? Bilbo Baggins is the new Gryffindor Seeker!”  
  
Professor Elrond had tried to keep the rumour contained, but it had spread through Gryffindor house like a fire through a dead forest. Bofur couldn’t believe his ears when Bilbo explained the no, he wasn’t to be packing his bags, he was to be on the Quidditch team. Godelina and Aldreda had heard the news as well, and were pestering Bilbo the whole day to see if he could try and sneak them in Bludgers and bats to practice with. And with his multiple connections to Gryffindor house, Ori had found out, and instead of celebrating was complaining, about the dangers of Quidditch already, much less having a first-year play.  
  
“Come on, now, it can’t be that horrible. You saw him dive!” Bofur exclaimed.  
  
But still he disagreed. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, thats all. You probably got lucky yesterday. I can’t believe Professor Elrond is letting you do this.”  
  
But he was interrupted by the sound of two more Gryffindors dashing up behind them. “Well done, Bilbo. Just heard the news, looks of it, you’re our new Seeker!” Kili, the third-year Gryffindor had caught up to them with his brother. His hair was awfully strewn about, making Bilbo assumed he’d tried a new spell and had it backfire.  
  
“We’re on the team as well.” Fili told him. “Beaters. We -"  
  
“Hit Bludgers with sticks, yes, I know.” Bilbo replied, finally knowing something about Quidditch.  
  
“You must be brilliant to get on the team!” Kili exclaimed. “It’s a rough game, you know. Everything flying about at once, you’ve got to keep yourself up, and try not to dive headfirst into the stands.”  
  
“Oh, it’s not too serious.” Fili added, noticing the unsure expression Bilbo had taken. “No one’s ever died.”  
  
“You’re right, they just lose a few limbs.”  
  
“Or disappear.”  
  
“But they turn up in a month or two.” both brothers said in sync.  
  
“Stop teasing him.” Bofur said, elbowing Kili in the arm. “It’s not true, not really.” he told Bilbo. “But you’re really great at it!”  
  
“Thanks.” Bilbo mumbled. Fili and Kili ran off to their next class, out of the stairwell Bilbo and Bofur were now climbing.  
  
“So when d’you start?” Bofur asked, passing a portrait of an old woman brandishing an axe. “Training, I mean.”  
  
“Nori wants to see me after classes today. I have no idea what for, though.”  
  
“Must be exciting.” Bofur said in awe. “You’re actually getting to play Quidditch. And yesterday you didn’t even know what it was!”  
  
Transfiguration passed normally, with the exception of Professor Elrond giving silent glances in Bilbo’s direction while he explained what their essay was to be about, and Ori sitting next to Bilbo just to shake his head softly every time they made eye contact. Bilbo already felt sorry for Nori; his younger brother was sure to never let him forget about letting Bilbo onto the team. Potions came again, where Professor Thranduil asked them to make a Dizziness Draught, which he promised to test out on each of them after they’d been completed. Luckily, Bilbo’s had been done absolutely wrong, and he left the classroom without any light-headedness at all. Legolas’s potion had been more successful, and he complained of blurry vision as they exited to the main floor, Bilbo to the Quidditch pitch.  
  
The trees in the valley had began to turn to beautiful autumn oranges and reds. Walking over the bridge, the whole array of colours became visible, sending a few loose leaves up towards the castle. Might there have been fruit trees down there with the trees, perhaps they’d be falling from the branches as well.  
  
The trees around the path to the pitch were also beginning to sport colours of the season. Bilbo’s dark maroon scarf nearly blended in to the leaves on a sycamore right around where Nori said he’d be meeting him, and sure enough he was, with a chest laying at his feet.  
  
“Thought I’d just show you the ropes before we through you on the field.” he explained, unlatching the chest. “So, why’d Elrond want you on the team?”  
  
Bilbo shrugged. “I broke rules.”  
  
“Perfect for my team. But it was your first time on a broom, and you did a wicked dive, I’m sure, Elrond didn’t shut up about it all at yesterday during Transfiguration. And now you’re a Seeker.”  
  
“What exactly does a Seeker do?” Bilbo asked, and as he did, Nori finished opening the chest to reveal three playing balls, one large and red, and two others smaller sized and metallic. He picked up the red one, and tossed it to Bilbo.  
  
“You’ll find out.” Bilbo caught it quickly. “This is the Quaffle. The Chasers fly around the field, tossing this to each other. See those hoops?” He gestured to the three large hoops high above ground, each at slightly different levels. “The Chasers want to get this ball in one of those hoops. There’s three Chasers, they’re the only ones who try and score.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, trying to keep that information in his memory.  
  
“These others ones,” Nori pointed down to the metallic ones left in the chest, straining against straps holding them down in their place. “are Bludgers. The Beaters try and get them far away from the other players, far as they can.”  
  
He then picked up a small bat from the box and handed it to Bilbo. “Hold this.” Unlatching the strap from around one of the Bludgers, he stepped back, and let Bilbo watch as it flew up into the air, emitting a noise than sounded like shrieking. It flew about in the air for a few seconds, then began it’s descent back to where the both of them were standing.  
  
“Oh no, give that back, give that back.” Nori grabbed the bat out of Bilbo’s hands just as the Bludger came shrieking back to earth, took a swing, and hit the Bludger far off into the pitch. “Right. ‘Suppose I’ll have to go get that.”  
  
“How do Fili and Kili handle those?” Bilbo asked, staring at where the Bludger had disappeared behind the stands. “They seem like a nightmare.”  
  
“Fili and Kili are more than fit to handle those. No one’s actually died from a Bludger, worst I’ve see was when Yamason took one to the jaw last year…but don’t worry about it.” Nori said, putting the bat back in the box. “Now, this is the thing you do have to be worried about.” He opened up a small latch in the middle of the chest Bilbo didn’t even know could contain something, and let a small, little golden ball with wings fluttering so fast Bilbo could barely see them float around.  
  
“The Golden Snitch.” Nori pronounced. They stood in silence staring at it for a few seconds before Nori said “Tricky little buggers.”  
  
“Fastest ball on the field. And it’s your job to catch it. If you do, we get two hundred-fifty points, and probably win, unless we’re getting ploughed already. It’s the only way a team can win, so if you don’t catch it fast the match can go on long as it can. Longest ever here was three days, they had to cancel exams.” He smiled. “Elrond figured out I was putting off the catching soon enough, though.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, feeling pressured already. “What do you do, then?”  
  
“Keeper.” Nori said, reaching out and folding up the Snitch in his hand. “Guarding the hoops from the other team. Any other questions?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. He understood the game plenty now, understood what to do, it was really doing it that would be the problem.  
  
“Great.” Nori shut the lid on the chest. “Baggins, right? Yeah, I saw your father’s plaque for Gryffindor. Won the cup five times, I think. That must be worth something, if anything. I have a feeling this year’s gonna be lucky.”


	11. Third Floor, Right Hand Corridor

Even though Bilbo’s first Quidditch match appeared to be ages away, he still couldn’t contain his excitement, and neither could Gryffindor house. Fili and Kili had been offering to lend him their brooms for practice out on the pitch, but had to be reminded that first-years weren’t supposed to be playing Quidditch, and if any of the other houses saw him flying about, everyone would have a lot of explaining to do. To make up for this missed practice opportunity, Bilbo had been taking small little things from drawers and seeing how far he could toss and catch it. His record so far had been nearly touching the ceiling in the common room with a game piece for Creature’s Chess.  
  
Classes were still going well. He had been late turning in his essay for History of Magic, but it was finished, mainly done by help from Ori from when Bilbo had finally given up and retreated to the library for information. It was now a regular thing for him and Bofur to travel to classes by Sphinx-Charmed portrait now, even though they knew most of the castle by now. They commonly went to use the passageway of Elmira Elfenstone, who gave ridiculously long riddles, yet was closest to the History of Magic room. Her latest question had been:  
  
'From stardust made was I, shaped and changed as time went by. Names I've known, owners too, belonging to no one when time is through.'  
  
They had almost been late for class when Bofur remembered the tale of the land being made from stardust, and they’d been let through.  
  
Thranduil still took no liking to the Gryffindors in Potions. His latest demonstration of this had been when Bombur had made his Swelling Solution thick and red instead of it’s desired thin blue colour, and Thranduil had made him to test it out on his hand. The Healing Wing had not been pleased when he came to see them with swollen fingers. Bofur was utterly convinced Thranduil was out to get them, and refused to hear otherwise. Bilbo knew Thranduil did not like him well, but knew not why, seeing as he was no Dwarf.  
  
Homework had certainly increased since the start of the year, seeing as the month was now October, and the winter holidays would be soon. Bilbo did not look forward to the coming of the winter holidays, seeing as he would be all alone in the castle, without any of his friends, since they all had a loving family to go home to. He shook his head of the thought of Lobelia letting him come back for winter. It would never happen, he knew.  
  
The morning had only just begun, and Bilbo and Bofur were sitting at the Gryffindor table, awaiting breakfast and the post. Bofur had been teaching Bilbo how to play a game called Creature’s Chess, which was like the game of checkers Bilbo knew, but far more complicated.  
  
“There’s six types of creatures.” he pointed to the statuettes on the checkered board that was sitting on the table. “This one’s the Dwarf-king, he’s the most powerful. You get him, you win the game.”  
  
“But how do I get anything?”  
  
“You move your creatures around, you’re trying to knock off mine. Now, there’s the Goblins, they don’t do much. You can only move them one step at once…”  
  
As he was explaining to Bilbo how to knock off a Goblin piece, the post birds flew into the Great Hall. Bilbo’s eyes, as well as most of the student’s were caught to a rather long parcel being carried by four ravens. He was taken aback as the birds lowered down over his table and dropped it right in front of him, sending the Creature’s Chess pieces flying onto the floor. A second later, his own raven, Mithril, came fluttering down with a letter in his beak. Bilbo tugged it from his and ripped it open.  
  
‘Bilbo: Don’t open the package at the table!’ it read, in unfamiliar handwriting. ‘Inside’s your new broom, a Nimbus Two Thousand. Elrond couldn’t get it himself, so I had to take a few drastic measures. I don’t want everyone knowing you’ve got one, so open it while you’re alone. First practice’ll be Thursday at seven.’  
  
‘Signed, Nori Glorison, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.’  
  
“Well, what is it?” Bofur asked eagerly, and Bilbo handed over the letter.  
  
“A Nimbus Two Thousand?” he said incredulously. “I’ve never even seen one of those!”  
  
“We can’t open it here.” Bilbo told him. “Let’s go upstairs.”  
  
After Bofur had collected up his Creature’s Chess pieces, they ran up to the Gryffindor common room, Bilbo clutching the packaged broomstick close to him. As they reached the third floor, they saw three students descending the steps, one of which Bilbo did not recognize, but the other two he knew as Taraneth and no one other but Legolas. He stopped in his place when he saw the package Bilbo was carrying.  
  
“What do you have in your hands?” he asked, walking briskly towards where Bilbo stood and snatching the package from him.  
  
“Give that back, it’s mine.” Bilbo said, glaring.  
  
But Legolas did none of the sort; instead, he examined it, turning it over in his hands and feeling around the paper. “Who sent you a broomstick? First-years are not permitted them, you do know.”  
  
Bilbo took it out of the elf’s hands. “I am, though. It’s from…um, Professor Elrond. He wanted me to practice my catching skills, you know, since you’ve given me a brilliant outlet for it.” he smirked.  
  
Legolas’s eyes narrowed. “I wondered why you weren’t sent back to the Laa-ingole yet. I suppose it must be because Elrond thinks you’re special.”  
  
“You’re a lot braver now you’re back on ground, you know.” Bofur said. “And it’s not just any old broom he’s gotten, it’s a Nimbus. What d’you think you could do with, a Cleansweep?’  
  
“You’re one to talk. You probably can’t afford half the tail.” Taraneth said with a glare. “Him and his brothers must save up twig by twig.” she added to Legolas.  
  
Again, Bilbo had to interject before a fight broke out in the stairwell. “Couldn’t you think of any insult yourself, or does she come up with all of them?”  
  
Legolas had lost his peaceful expression long before Bilbo said this, but it disappeared completely from his face now. “I would have a match anytime against you, on my own. By nightfall tonight, a wizard’s duel, with wands, not fists. Oh, I’ve forgotten, you must have never heard of a duel before.”  
  
“He has.” Bofur said before Bilbo could think too much on it. “I’ll be his second. Yours?”  
  
Legolas motioned to Taraneth, who had not noticed, since she was in conversation with the other Ravenclaw elf. She looked up when she noticed all eyes were on her, staring around confusedly before realizing what she had been signed up for, and tried to hide her worry.  
  
“Midnight, so be it.” Legolas said. “Meet in the Carvings room, it’s unlocked the whole night.” And with that, he and his friends swept off down the stairs, pushing Bilbo aside as they did. Bofur stood, fuming, next to him.  
  
They continued their walk up to Gryffindor tower, Bilbo holding the broomstick package now in his hand. “Bofur?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“What is a wizard’s duel?”  
  
“It’s like a fistfight, ‘cept with spells.” Bofur answered.  
  
Bilbo nodded, feeling as if he had no clue what he had agreed to. “And what did you mean by a second?”  
  
“Well, a second is meant to take over if you die. But you won’t kill anyone, trust me. All you can do is maybe make his hair stand up straight.”  
  
“And what if I can’t do any magic at all?”  
  
Bofur pondered on this for a moment, then said “Throw it off to the side and give him a good punch.”  
  
“What’s that you’re talking about?”  
  
They both looked behind them. Ori had climbed up the stairs as well, and had obviously heard most of what they had to say. He did not seem puzzled, instead he seemed very well informed.  
  
Bilbo sighed. “What is it?”  
  
Ori climbed further up to stand in between both of them. “I could hear what you were saying to each other, about a wizard’s duel. You know it’s dangerous, right? And you’re not allowed to be walking outside your dorm after night, and you could lose hundreds of points for your house-“  
  
But Bofur interrupted him mid-sentence. “That’s not really your problem.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“Thank you. Goodbye.” Bilbo said, and him and Bofur ran up towards Gryffindor common room, leaving Ori standing in the stairwell all alone.

  


They stumbled into the Defence Against the Dark Arts room just as Professor Oakenshield stood from his desk. Bilbo scrambled for his desk, attempting to duck under the professor’s gaze, while Bofur instead took a running leap for his. Ori let out a sigh that alerted Oakenshield’s attention, but by then both boys had been seated.  
  
“I take it that we are all in our places?” he asked the class. Bilbo shook out his wand from underneath his sleeve.  
  
“Very well. Today’s lesson will be different than our last. You will not be performing any spells yourself, instead, I will give demonstrations, and you will take notes.” Oakenshield announced, pacing from his desk and going to stand in front of the small chalkboard. “Who can say what a curse is?”  
  
The atmosphere suddenly became quite grim. Ori’s hand went into the air. Of course, Bilbo thought, he had the answer. “It’s a very strong spell, only used to cause harm to the receiver.”  
  
Oakenshield nodded. “Five points to Hufflepuff. Correct.” He proceeded to write Ori’s definition on the chalkboard. “What is its difference between a spell?”  
  
Ori answered again. “A spell is simply a charm, used for all people and all procedures. But a curse is a more strong magic, and is only used in a long-term or serious range…”  
  
“Wonderful, five points more.” The chalkboard now read ‘curse: harmful and strong spell’. Oakenshield turned back to the class. “Professor Gandalf has given permission for me to be teaching my students about the effects and causes of curses this year. Some would argue that this decision is unwise. Is anyone willing to agree?”  
  
No one raised a hand. Professor Oakenshield continued. “Normally this is not taught until fourth year. But, given circumstances, Professor Gandalf has agreed to teach this to you.”  
  
Bofur leaned over. “What d’you reckon he means, ‘circumstances’?”  
  
Oakenshield cleared his throat. “Who, amongst you, is familiar with the Unforgivable Curses?”  
  
Looking around, Bilbo saw no hands in the air. Then, slowly, a Hufflepuff girl raised her hand. Godelina followed her, and so did a few others. Neither Bilbo nor Bofur had their hands in the air, yet Ori did. Oakenshield called on the Hufflepuff girl to give a definition. She felt the need to stand from her desk, letting the class see a rather deep scar on her neck. “Um, they’re curses, sir, with particularly, um, gruesome effects on normal folk…” she stumbled. Oakenshield nodded, and waved her to sit down.  
  
“Our classmate is quite correct.” he said. “These three curses have been outlawed by the statutes of every magical ministry, seeing as there are, by name, unforgivable. Does anyone know the first curse outlawed?”  
  
Again, no hands were raised. The classroom of first-years sat in silence. Oakenshield stared around the room, looking for any sign of knowledge on this point. “Ruiwen?” he called, eyes catching onto their uncomfortable facial expression in the front row. “Do you know which curse I speak of?”  
  
Ruiwen nodded, so slightly you couldn’t even notice. “My mother mentioned something, something about a curse once.” they mumbled.  
  
“And do you recall the name?”  
  
Ruiwen nodded again. “I believe she said it was called the Imperius curse.”  
  
“Right, she was. Five points to Gryffindor.” Professor Oakenshield paced over again to his desk, pulling open a drawer and taking out a jar, containing a rather large spider. “I will demonstrate. You’ll need to take your notes.”  
  
Bilbo had just reached into his bag for his quill when he heard a piercing shriek come from the front of the room. He stood out of his chair to see Ruiwen shrieking as Oakenshield’s spider hovered above their head. The Professor was controlling its movements with his wand, as if it was a marionette suspended in midair. A Hufflepuff boy beside them began to laugh, and as Oakenshield noticed, the spider moved quickly onto his hand.  
  
The whole class was now laughing, craning their heads for a better look. Oakenshield seemed to be enjoying himself, watching the Hufflepuff boy scramble around his desk, trying to rid himself of the spider. “That’s hilarious!” Godelina cried.  
  
“Hilarious, is it?” Oakenshield said, moving the spider with his wand over Bilbo’s ducking head and onto Godelina’s nose. Her eyes widened as she swatted it off with one hit, landing on Bofur’s desk and attempting to crawl up his arm. Bilbo made sure to push back his chair onto two legs rather than help his friend bat off the spider, which seemed to be clinging for dear life onto his tie. The class was still howling with laughter, as was Bilbo, watching Oakenshield’s delighted face as he flew the spider onto a Hufflepuff boy’s desk next to the window.  
  
“Amazing, truly!” Oakenshield exclaimed. “What could I do next? Fly it out the window?”  
  
The spider flew off of the boy’s book and onto the glass of the window. The laughter died down. “Have it drowned?” he said in a grimmer tone.  
  
The spider flew back to Oakenshield’s desk, as the class fell silent once more. He placed it onto the wooden surfaced, removing the charm. “This curse allows you to have complete control over your victim. They will have no chance of resistance, if the curse is strong enough. Years ago, witches and wizards claimed they had only done their bad deeds because they had been cursed. The only problem was, there was no way to tell who was a liar.”  
  
Bilbo had no intention of writing this down. The classroom air had become stiff once more.  
  
“Who can tell me of the second unforgivable curse?” Oakenshield asked freely.  
  
Again, there were no volunteers. It appeared that Oakenshield was going to have to pick for himself once more, until beside Bilbo, Bofur raised his. “Sir?”  
  
“Yes?” Oakenshield responded.  
  
“My…” he mumbled. “Ah, my cousins…they said something about the Cruciatus Curse.”  
  
“Ten points to Gryffindor.” Professor Oakenshield said, nodding slowly.  
  
Bilbo leaned over. “How did you know that?”  
  
“Long story.” was the response.  
  
Oakenshield pointed his wand at the spider now lying down on the face of his desk. He muttered something, and the room was filled with the sound of what sounded like nails scratching across the chalkboard. Bofur winced.  
  
The spider was writhing on the desk, it’s cry still echoing across the classroom. Bilbo could feel a clawing sensation in his chest, a horrible feeling of pain, endless pain, that the spider must have been enduring. Oakenshield continued to hold his wand on the spider as it squirmed and shrieked, until his ears rung and he’d had enough.  
  
“Stop!” cried Ori, only a few desks away from where Bilbo was. “Stop that, you’re killing it! Can’t you see it’s bothering him?”  
  
Who the person Ori referred to Bilbo did not know until Oakenshield removed his wand and the shrieks stopped, allowing him to hear the sharp exhale come from Bofur, still beside him, teeth clenched and staring down at his hands.  
  
Oakenshield picked up the limp spider. He walked up to Ori’s desk, where he sat now, too, appearing most uncomfortable. “I believe you know of the final curse?”  
  
But Ori shook his head. The surrounding silence was so thick, Bilbo could hear his nail tap on the desk. Professor Oakenshield placed the spider onto Ori’s book and pointed his wand once more. “Avada Kedavra.” he said, and a jet of green light burst from his wand. The spider fell over onto it’s side, and Ori let out a whimper.  
  
“The final curse. The killing curse.” Oakenshield stated, placing his wand back into his robes. “There has been only one known survival of this curse in this age. And that claim belongs to someone in this room.”  
  
Bilbo Baggins did not need to see the heads of both his teacher and his classmates turn to him, as well as feel a sharp and sudden pain in his forehead, to know that it was him.

  


For the rest of the day, Bofur barely spoke. He had done Charms in silence, pushing the quill they were supposed to be moving with their wands back and forth with the tip of his wand. Bilbo felt no desire to ask why, instead, allowing him to remain quiet.  
  
After the day had finished, they were walking back up to Gryffindor tower when they saw Professor Oakenshield coming down from his office. He stopped them both in a stairwell. “How are you?” he asked to Bofur, not casually but seriously. Bofur didn’t respond. “Here, come to my office. You’re not in trouble, don’t worry. We’ll have tea.” And with that, the two of them went off down the stairs, leaving Bilbo to return to the common room alone.  
  
His Astronomy homework was driving him up the walls, it was so complicated. What with all the distraction around him, and the looming duel with Legolas at midnight, he was having trouble concentrating on his star chart. Fili and Kili were busy testing out something they called ‘canary creams’ on their friends and laughing when the ever-so often canary would begin to fly around the common room. Ruiwen tried to help him on it, but they had much more done than Bilbo when dinner came around. He barely ate, he was too busy stressing over the duel. Even attempting to reassure himself that they wouldn’t be able to harm each other he worried, maybe on the fact that this might get him expelled.  
  
Bofur had returned to the common room after dinner. He didn’t look as unhappy as before, and he was sitting on the red sofa in front of the hearth, holding what looked like an envelope. “How was he? You’re not in trouble, are you?” Bilbo asked upon seeing him.  
  
He shook his head. “No. Oakenshield wanted to give me this.” He shook the envelope. “Just something about classes.”  
  
Bilbo sighed in relief. He walked over and sat down next to his friend on the couch. “I had thought he was going to tell you off for being squeamish. Since he’s quite tough and all.”  
Bofur laughed. “I was thinking! Don’t mind it. Anyways, you’ve got that duel with elf-ears later still.”  
“Don’t act like I could forget.” Bilbo grumbled. His star chart was still not completed. It lay on the table beside Ruiwen’s finished one. “I was hoping Defence Against the Dark Arts might have given me some ideas.”  
  
For the rest of the night, they stayed in the common room, working on homework. They didn’t tell anyone about the upcoming wizard’s duel, instead, Bofur kept giving Bilbo advice, such as “If he curses you, try and curse him back, since I don’t really remember the protection spells.” It was half past eleven when everyone else had gone up to bed and they were alone in the common room. But even then Bilbo worried. He had been breaking school rules left and right lately, he thought this might be pushing his luck. Radagast, the caretaker, might catch him anyway, and then he’d have no quick way out. All he could do was hope that nothing would go wrong, that he would beat Legolas, and that tomorrow at Potions he would be able to sneer at Legolas as he had done to Bilbo.  
  
They crept through the portrait-hole, wands in hand, and made their way down the staircases. The paintings and their subjects all appeared to be asleep. A few torches were still lit, casting a bare orange light onto their footsteps. Everything seemed to echo, and Bilbo attempted to make his large Hobbit feet land lightly on the stairs. The castle was very eerie at night, Bilbo noticed, and he did not want to be out at this time again. “Where’d he say?” Bofur asked once they were outside of the doorway to the first floor.  
  
“The Carvings room, I remember.”  
  
“Any idea where that is?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. Just then, he saw a shadow pass down in the Entrance Hall. He grabbed Bofur and pinned them both to the wall. The shadow appeared again, and this time Bilbo was allowed a better look at it. It couldn’t be a teacher, no, it was far too small. He peeked his head around the corner of the wall.  
  
“What on the green earth are you doing out here?” a familiar voice asked.  
  
Bilbo and Bofur came out from where they had been hiding. Ori stood in the Entrance Hall, holding a candle and looking very miffed. “I told you, you shouldn’t be doing this?”  
  
“Why do you care?” Bofur questioned. “We’re not in your house, you won’t lose any precious points.”  
  
Ori glared. “I almost told my brother, your house head. He wouldn’t have let you.”  
  
“Go back. Please.” Bilbo said. “We’re not going to give this up.”  
  
But Ori still stood in place. He glared down both boys, which the effect of was slightly lesser, seeing as Bilbo and Bofur were standing on stairs above the floor where he stood.  
  
Bofur let out a hard sigh. “Come with us, then, if you’re not going anywhere else.”  
  
“What? No, of course not, why would you think-“  
  
But Ori was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Everyone froze. No one spoke, until they heard the voice of Radagast come from the stairwell.  
  
“Searched everywhere…classrooms…bathrooms…where’d he say he’d be again?”  
  
“Go.” Bilbo whispered, gesturing to the Great Hall. The great doors were open, and all three boys took off running in a mad dash down the length of the tables. Bilbo’s eyes frantically searched for somewhere to go, anywhere, and then he saw it - oh, thank the Green Lady! - a small door at the back of the hall, just behind the teacher’s table. “There!” he shouted, pointing to it.  
  
Ori dashed up to the front first, grabbing the knob and twisting. It swung open. Radagast’s footsteps could now be heard coming down the last flight of stairs. Bofur slid underneath the table and into the doorway, disappearing behind Ori. Bilbo could hear Radagast in the Entrance Hall. Bilbo ran between the wall and the table’s edge, catching his robe on it and hearing the rip of the hem. But there was no time to lose, he’d have to leave it for now. He dared to look back, as he reached the door, and just saw Radagast’s large grey hare scampering into the Hall, and disappeared into the darkness of the doorway, shutting it behind him.  
  
But what Bilbo saw confused him - the door did not open to a closet, instead, he saw a set of descending stairs spread out in front of him once his eyes adjusted. Quickly, he stepped down them, two at a time, until an arm stuck out in front of him, and stopped him where he stood.  
  
Ori was holding him back, looking around at the room. They had found the Carvings room, no doubt about it. Bilbo stared in awe at the marvellous statues of stone and metals, big and small ones in every corner. All thought of a duel went out of his mind. What a beautiful place this was, he thought, how was it not open to students? The dust floated around the room as Bofur removed a covering from a painting of a Prince of Men, wearing a crown that shone as though painted with real gold. “Wow.” was all Bilbo could put into words.  
  
“It’s amazing.” Ori said incredulously.  
  
But their admiring of the Carvings room was put to an end when Bilbo remember that Radagast was still in the Great Hall. And there seemed to be no doorway hidden behind any of the artworks.  
  
“How do we get out?” he asked, stepping away from the stairs. “We’ve been trapped.”  
  
The silence held, until a yawn came from the painting of the prince. Then, Bilbo had another idea involving doors.  
  
“Bofur, is that a Sphinx-Charmed Portrait?” he asked, walking towards it. The prince was still yawning, but nothing moved except his mouth, a characteristic he recognized from the other secret passageway guarders he had found across the castle.  
  
Bofur shrugged his shoulders. “How should I know?”  
  
“Ask it something.” Bilbo said brusquely. Ori looked confused, and kept glancing up at the doorway that they had come out from.  
  
“Do you have a passage behind you?” Bofur asked the prince.  
  
And to Bilbo’s surprise, it answered. “Passage? If, by thy means, a hidden transport across the castle, then indeed, I do.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, and pointed at the prince to Bofur and Ori, as if to say ‘See?’. “Where can we get through you?”  
  
The prince spoke again, moving only his mouth. “Ah, thou asks but I cannot tell.”  
  
Ori groaned. “How is this helping?”  
  
“Just wait!” Bofur waved him off. “What’s the riddle?”  
  
“I take it thou art familiar with passages such as mine?” the prince said. Bilbo could not hear Radagast coming anywhere near the door, which worried him. “What creature do I think of, that has unbloodied talons, and a voice to sing, never speak?”  
  
Before Bilbo could even begin to think, however, Ori marched up towards the prince’s portrait with a newly exhibited impatient attitude. “A bird. Now can you let us go through, already, or I’ll rip through your canvas!”  
  
The prince’s door swung open immediately, and Bilbo thought he heard him mutter as they stepped inside “The audacity!”  
  
Seconds later, they were emerging from another doorway that had also been covered with tarp, as it swung down in front of their way. As soon as they all were standing in the hallway, Bilbo’s heart rate beginning to slow, Bofur took a sigh of relief. “That was close.”  
  
“Too close.” Bilbo added.  
  
“Some nerve you two have!” Ori lashed out. “It was a trick, of course. Legolas would never duel you. He surely went and told Radagast you’d be out, because of course you’d believed him…”  
  
“Apologies, mum.” Bofur scoffed. “Now, does anyone know where we are?”  
  
Bilbo realized they were now standing in a part of the castle unknown to him. It was dark, with cobwebs hanging off the ceilings, and a dusty suit of armour placed right next to the doorway - and was in the process of falling over, thanks to Bilbo’s quick turnaround in order to look around. It crashed to the ground with a sound so loud the whole castle must have heard it. Ori began to form the starting of what sounded like a very strong curse, but Bofur interrupted by shouting an even louder “Run!”  
  
Taking off down the hallway once more, all three boys turned a corner and found themselves facing another large door. Bofur tried the lock. “We’re in for it now, that’s locked!”  
  
“Move over!” Ori demanded, and, looking slightly scared as he did, Bofur stepped down. Ori whipped out his wand and pointed it at the lock. “Alohomora.” he said, and it clicked. Bilbo and Bofur pushed it open, ducked inside along with Ori, and slammed it shut behind them.  
  
“That was close…again.” Bilbo said. “Now, how do we…”  
  
But no one seemed to be listening. Ori and Bofur were looking in the opposite direction, towards the centre of the room, frozen in place. When Bilbo turned to see what they were looking at, he felt that, even with everything that had happened tonight, this was surely the worst one.  
  
For they were staring at what looked to be a terrifying, though smaller than the others of its kind, dragon, with dark yellow scales and one magnificent opal blue eye that had opened to see its disturbers. They weren’t just anywhere unfamiliar in the school, Bilbo realized it now, with a rapid growing panic in his stomach. They had found the forbidden corridor, the one Professor Gandalf had outlawed to anyone not wishing to die a most painful death. And now, he knew why.  
  
Within a split second, the door was wrenched open, the boys set off running as fast as they had that night, and a very loud roaring echoed from the room they had just left behind. Bilbo did not want to think of what would happen if the dragon managed to come after him, he just wanted to put as much space as possible between himself and it. The three of them ran down into the stairwells and up to the seventh floor, Ori included, and crashed onto the landing in front of the warrior’s portrait, Bofur falling flatly over, and Bilbo holding himself against the wall.  
  
“What…in the planes of Mahal…was that?” Bofur managed to say.  
  
“Where have you been? It’s nearly twelve o’clock!” the warrior portrait asked.  
  
“Witherwings, witherwings.” Bilbo panted the password, and her door swung open. But Ori didn’t enter. He was staring down at the stairwell, as if reminiscing already.  
  
“It was standing on something.” he mumbled, thinking no one could hear.  
  
“What d’you mean, ‘it was standing on something’?” Bofur asked. “It was a bloody dragon!”  
  
“It was guarding something!” Ori snapped back. “Did you not see the trapdoor under its foot?”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I think I was distracted a bit by the fact that it was a dragon! In the school!” Bofur nearly shouted.  
  
“Would you keep it down?” the portrait said. “Everyone else is asleep, as normal people do.”  
  
Ori huffed, then ran down the stairs, not looking back. Bilbo had no energy left to say anything else at all, and neither did Bofur, it seemed. As they quickly headed towards the dormitories, Bilbo could only think of one thing: Ori may have been right. If they had a dragon in the school, there was only one reason for it to be there. And if it was guarding something, and if Bilbo remembered correctly, there was indeed something in the castle Beorn had talked about protecting…


	12. Wingardium Leviosa

The few weeks after Bilbo’s encounter with the hidden contents inside the third floor corridor did not go quite calmly, as you would expect after three first years were faced with a large dragon. The morning after this happened Bilbo had spotted Radagast inside the Great Hall looking rather disgruntled, staring at the small door behind the teachers table Bilbo would never overlook again. Legolas stared as Bilbo and Bofur entered for breakfast, his face astonished that neither of them had been expelled, as his tricking had failed. Mind you, they were amazed as well, seeing that they had been out of bed long after curfew, had left trails all over the castle, and had woken a live dragon on the forbidden corridor. It was surely a feat of the gods that Professors Elrond and Gandalf were not dragging all three of them by the ears back towards the train.  
  
Speaking of the third member of their unfortunate company that night, Ori had not said a word to his brothers in Gryffindor about what had happened, another action previously thought impossible. His agitated attitude he had showcased mysteriously vanished the morning after as he approached Bilbo and Bofur on their way to History of Magic.  
  
“Have you thought about what it might have been guarding?” he asked casually as he poked his way in between the two boys.  
  
Bofur shook his head. “Y’know, Ori, I’d really prefer to forget that we ever saw it in the first place.”  
  
“You do know it’s your fault, right?” Ori asked again. “If you two hadn’t been out of bed in the first place, on Legolas’s request that really was fake, you know- “  
  
“Yes, we do.” Bilbo said firmly, trying to tell Ori that he really shouldn’t be persisting in the matter.  
  
He huffed, and crossed his arms. “You could have been killed, or even worse, expelled. I don’t want you getting into either of those. Especially if it’s going to make you end up in dangerous places.”  
  
“Ori, if I wanted you to be my mother, I would’ve asked.” Bofur said finally, stopping in place.  
  
“I’m just trying to…” But Ori stopped short. He sighed, and let his arms fall back to his sides. “I do care, you know. Really.” He shook his head. “You’re right, we shouldn’t talk about it. Not without any leads on it. Else we’d just be talking smoke. If I find out anything, I’ll say.”  
  
The rest of the walk was thick-aired, and Bilbo could feel himself wanting to say something about the parcel Beorn had taken from Gringotts, to perhaps give Ori his wanted lead, but told himself he couldn’t. That would be giving away much too much. As well, he did not want them to investigate further. The dragon had been the line.  
  
But there were other things to think about over the rest of the month. His first Quidditch practice with the rest of the team was set for the morning of October the thirty-first, and as he found himself on the pitch on that early morning weeks later, wishing he could be back inside his warm bed, he watched as everyone else came feverishly onto the field. The first thing noticed was that he was obviously the smallest player by far. The next, was that there was a large number of Dwarves on the team.  
  
Nori was there when Bilbo arrived just as the sun rose, as well as a girl he had never seen before with fair red hair and a tall figure. She had introduced herself as Tauriel, a fifth-year, one of the Chasers alongside two other girls who hadn’t arrived just yet. Next to arrive, already dressed in matching maroon and gold robes were Fili and Kili, who were hasty to start unpacking the chest and flinging Bludgers about, much to Bilbo’s fear of them flying the balls above his head. As the sun began to rise into the sky the last two arrived, Tilda, a small third-year, and Dia, a buff sixth-year. They were all huddled talking with each other when Nori cleared his throat, standing up on a bench.  
  
“Well, welcome to the first practice of the year.” he stated. There was a small cheer from Fili and Kili. “Most of you have been here before, so I won’t subject you to anything boring. For the new ones, you’ll need a uniform.” He tossed a bundle of player’s robes to Bilbo and one to Dia. “Ten minutes for set-up.”  
  
Ten minutes and many sleeve-folds later, Bilbo was suited in his own maroon and gold robes, which still draped a little over his toes. The others were on their brooms, tossing a Quaffle back and forth as they flew up and down the pitch. The girl, Tauriel, was proving to be quite good at catching and swerving to miss running into the third-year girl, of whom Bilbo wondered just how she had gotten onto the team. His Nimbus leaned against the stands, and he picked it up quickly to go and join them.  
  
“I haven’t seen you all fly over the summer,” Nori began, sitting side-saddled on his broomstick, a rather battered one in itself. “so I suppose we can just start with a few rounds of the pitch? Yeah, that sounds about right. Three rounds of flying!”  
  
Bilbo had been nervous as he arrived at practice. What if the incident with Legolas had just been a fluke, and he really had no talent after all? How embarrassing that might be, to get on and crash into the grass, having to leave with everyone laughing at him? These thoughts coursed through his mind as he mounted his broom. Once he was in the air, however, it was a different story. The feeling of knowledge came back into his head, clouding out all worries of judgement and embarrassment, and at once he shot off around the pitch, soaring through the early morning air.  
  
He finished his rounds first, coming to a full stop in front of where Nori perched, watching as everyone else came to a halt around him. The third-year, Tilda, had been quick also, whipping around the corners of the pitch just like she hadn’t even stopped. Fili and Kili had been racing each other to the end, occasionally shoving into the other’s shoulder and throwing themselves off balance. Nori threw out the Quaffle to Tauriel as she finished. “Places, then. You all look great.”  
  
Their first scrimmage went better than Bilbo had expected. As he concluded from his place up above everyone else (the best place to spot the Snitch, Fili had told him), the Chasers were quite fast at their game, even Tilda, whom Bilbo now knew how she had gotten her place on the team. Nori didn’t throw out the Bludgers or Snitch until the Chasers had scored three goals on him, which didn’t take too long, and then Bilbo’s part came into play. He glanced around the pitch for a hint of fluttering gold wings, all the while attempting to balance on his broomstick. But nothing came into view, not even for a second.  
  
This was when the game began to get more interesting. Fili knocked a Bludger into one of the hoops Nori had been guarding, nearly knocking Nori off due to it’s collision with his high-styled hair. Dia tried to throw the Quaffle to Tilda, but missed, sending it into the path of Kili’s Bludger and causing the two to begin to argue over who’s fault it was. Dia didn’t want to cause much trouble after that, instead only flying with the Quaffle towards the hoops.  
  
Nori’s catching skills were amazing, Bilbo thought. He remembered hearing that he used to be a Seeker, but was banned from playing for a year because of the three-day long match he rigged. Bilbo was glad; his catching skills were most definitely not as well practiced as Nori’s. Tauriel was good as well, she had scored nearly half the goals Bilbo was keeping track of. He had been in roughly the same place since the game started, searching around for a hint of the Snitch, but it wasn’t until the sun had almost begun to rise to it’s morning position that he saw a little glimmer of gold rushing around on the left side of the pitch.  
  
Immediately he flew downwards, avoiding knocking into the path of a Bludger as he did. He could see the Snitch now - yes, there it was, just struggling around near the stands. He soared forward, faster than he thought he could fly, and reached out his hand.  
  
Only a second later did he feel something clasped in his fist, and looked to see the small golden ball placed perfectly in his palm, its wings no longer fluttering madly. Tauriel shouted “He’s got it!”, and everyone came flying down off their brooms.  
  
The practice ended soon after, Bilbo being introduced to everyone properly and told of his talent many times again before Nori let them go and change into their school robes. By then it was truly morning, with the chill of the October air and the light of the risen sun illuminating the castle in the background of the Quidditch pitch. The rather large pumpkins Beorn had brought up to the school were scattered all around the path to the castle, in light of the season. Bilbo walked back up to the grounds with Fili and Kili, and were all in the midst of a disagreement about the team’s Chasers and who was best at flying.  
  
“I’m still saying Tauriel, she’s been on the team since second year!” Kili said, as his brother rolled his eyes.  
  
“You’re only saying that because you fancy her.” he teased. Kili frowned, flushing a light shade of pink. Fili laughed. “ ‘on the team since second year’, more like ‘on my mind since second year’.” he said.  
  
“Well, I don’t like that new Chaser, what’s his name?” Kili changed the subject. “Did you see the way he ran into me after his score? I’d be he doesn’t properly know how to control the stick even. Shame, he is good-looking.”  
  
“Who, Dia?” Bilbo chimed in. “She’s a girl, Kili.”  
  
Fili let out a loud laugh as his brother turned pink once more. Kili shoved Fili’s side with his bag. They then proceeded to chase each other up to the courtyard, a dash in which Bilbo did not follow, instead, walked the rest of the way up to breakfast.  
  
Bofur joined him in the Entrance Hall, and was eager to hear everything about how practice had gone instantaneously. “What’s it like? You haven’t played before, really, but how was it?” he asked as Bilbo came in through the doors.  
  
And he answered every question his friend had for him, even the ones about the others on the team whom he had no clue about anything they did except play Quidditch. Bilbo did wish he wasn’t the only first-year on the team. It would be much more fun to have a friend on the team, someone who he’d known for the two months he’d been at Hogwarts for already, or at least see them play. He knew Fili and Kili already, but not as well. Supposedly he could keep on going to flying lessons to see them?  
  
The castle had taken the upcoming Hallow’s Eve to heart, or the teachers had, decorating the corridors with cobwebs and candles, covering the windows with cloth so that they gave reflections of creatures onto the walls. Even the portraits were co-operating with the season, as shown by the second floor corridor, where all the paintings of gardens had turned ghastly, causing a complete change of reaction from the usual peaceful library. When Bilbo went to the portrait of Nordine to get to Defence Against the Dark Arts on Tuesday, she had somehow removed her head from its stitched-on place and was holding it against her side, a change that caught him by surprise. Bilbo was enjoying the macabre spirit within the castle; Hallow’s Eve had never been a big holiday in Hobbiton. Sometimes neighbours would grow pumpkins and make cakes, but that was the extent of it. Hogwarts was a different story, however, and he wondered what would be happening inside the castle for other holidays, if this was just for one.  
  
Herbology was first on the Gryffindor first-years schedule, and as they headed into the greenhouse, they were presented with the sight of Professor Hilda, wearing rather large sheepskin earmuffs. A few students giggled at this, but Bilbo knew better than to get on the Professor’s worse side again. He had not been doing greatly in Herbology lately, and after the incident with the Evergrowing Webs last class, he thought that if he did another thing wrong, Hilda would not hesitate to properly punish him this time.  
  
“Good morning, class.” Professor Hilda announced loudly in her croaking tone. “Today, we’ll be working with a different kind of plant than you’re used to. It’s called a Mandrake. Anyone know what it’s used for?”  
  
A Slytherin girl’s hand went up. “Mandrake is a plant that resembles a Man. When it screams, it can be fatal to your ears.”  
  
“Wonderful, Volance.” Hilda said, lifting up an earmuff to hear. “The Mandrakes we’re working with are still young, and won’t kill you, but can knock you out for a few hours. Which is why I’ve got these.” She patted the earmuffs. “There’s some pairs just underneath the table.”  
  
Once everyone was suited with their own pair (Bofur wearing ones that were a hideous green), Hilda returned to the front of the room. The table was full of bunches of green leaves, which Bilbo assumed were the Mandrakes.  
  
“We’re replanting these ones, so I’ll show you.” She pulled an empty pot towards her. “First, you’re going to grab ahold of the leaves - no, no don’t do it yet, Pomsby, watch me.” she told a Slytherin boy grabbing onto the leaves. “Once you’ve got them, you’ll pull it straight up.”  
  
And so she did, releasing an ear-piercing shriek into the room. Bilbo’s hands immediately went to his ears, pressing down on the earmuffs, as he looked to see Professor Hilda holding what looked like a very ugly baby attached to the leaves.  
  
“What on Earth is that?” Bofur asked loudly, he too, was covering his ears manually.  
  
“Then you’re going to fill the pot with dirt…” Hilda said, attempting to scoop in dirt very quickly as the Mandrake screamed and wriggled in her grip. “…and then just drop it in.”  
  
The Mandrake was soon quiet again, after Hilda had stuffed it full of dirt, and placed the pot aside. “Now you’ll try with your own.”  
  
“You want us to pull up more of those?” Bofur asked.  
  
“Yes, I do.” Hilda replied firmly. “Just do as I showed.”  
  
And as the whole greenhouse was once again filled with the shrieking of personified roots, Bilbo began to wonder whether Professor Hilda was really out to get him after what he had done to her spiderwebs. 

  


After classes were over, Bilbo sat in the library alongside Ruiwen and Bofur, waving their wands about at bird feathers they had set on the desk. Their charms class homework was to practice levitation, after their disastrous first lesson that afternoon. Bilbo hadn’t had any luck at all with the task, and had instead sent the feather flying quill-first towards Professor Daín. Bofur had managed to move his feather to the other side of the desk, and was now prodding it with his wand again. Bombur, who’s wrist had healed incredibly quickly since the flying lesson, had managed to turn his feather purple. Ruiwen had been waving their wand about violently, and had both students sitting beside them ducking for cover. But after fifteen minutes of trying, still nothing came of it.  
  
The incantation was Wingardium Leviosa, and Bilbo thought that the librarian must be sick of hearing it. The Gryffindors had sectioned off a small corner of the library to practice, away from the fifth and sixth year students studying. Ori was sitting nearby, working on what looked like Potions homework, and kept staring at their horrible attempts at levitation.  
  
After Bilbo nearly knocked over a bookcase, Ori stood from his chair. “Would you like me to help you with that?” he asked. No one answered, but Ori took it as a ‘yes’ anyways.  
Bofur saw Ori coming over to where they sat, and cleared his throat for extra measure. “Wingardium Leviosa!” he pronounced, and flicked his wand at the feather multiple times. Ori’s hand reached out quickly and stopped Bofur’s before he sent his wand flying halfway across the room.  
  
“No, that’s not how you levitate something, that’s how you take your own eye out!” Ori told him. Bofur looked annoyed as he put his wand down on the desk. “And you’re saying it wrong, it’s Levi-o-sa. You’re saying Levio-sa.”  
  
“If you know how, then do it.” Bofur said, glaring at Ori, who still had a face of no wrong. Ori took out his wand and pointed it at the feather, Bilbo and Bofur watching intently.  
“Wingardium Leviosa.” he said calmly, giving a light swish and flick of the wand. And to Bilbo and Bofur’s surprise, the feather began to rise in the air. They watched as Ori flew it higher and higher, Bofur looking quite agitated now. It hovered in the air for a few seconds, then floated gracefully back to ground.  
  
“Showoff much.” Bofur said quietly so that only Bilbo would hear. Bilbo nodded, not wanting to disagree.  
  
“I can show you, if you want.” Ori offered, but the response was interrupted by a small-scale explosion coming from where Ruiwen sat. As the cloud of smoke cleared, Ruiwen appeared behind it, looking as though they had stuck their head into a cauldron. The feather - or, what was left of it - came floating down smoothly. “I think we’d better stop.” they said, staring at the bookshelf in surprise.  
  
“Yes, we’re going.” Bofur agreed, standing and packing up his books as the sixth-years began to peer over at where the explosion had occurred. Bofur and Ruiwen hurried out first, avoiding the librarian’s eyes, until it was just Ori and Bilbo left. Bilbo was about to make an excuse to leave when Ori asked “Could you help me with my History of Magic essay? I don’t know much about Hobbit beliefs and customs.”  
  
It took only a few minutes for Bilbo to give him enough information for the essay he didn’t know he had but now would be incredibly easy, and then they too began to leave the library.  
  
“Your friend doesn’t really like me.” Ori said abruptly. Bilbo did not need to ask what he meant.  
  
“It’s not that he doesn’t like you, really.” Bilbo explained as they passed through a stairwell. “He just gets annoyed by your success most of the time. And I assume you’re talking about Bofur.”  
  
Ori nodded. “I’m not saying he’s mean. I just think…”  
  
“I know.” Bilbo said. He did not want to give any more advice to Ori on the subject, because there were only two options to give. The first, he would have to tell Ori that he probably shouldn’t follow them around so much anymore, which most probably would insult him a great deal. The second, he would say to Ori that it was fine if he kept on following them in the way he was, which would most probably make Bofur if not quite annoyed. So he simply nodded, and they fell silent for the rest of the walk up the stairs.  
  
It was when they reached the fourth floor did Bilbo hear ringing laughter in a voice he recognized from a few steps above them. He looked up a few stairs and saw Bofur and Ruiwen, obviously oblivious to Bilbo and Ori’s presence.  
  
“ ‘Levi-o-sa, not levio-sa!’ ” he heard Bofur said, in a mocking impression of Ori to Ruiwen’s giggles. “He’s a nightmare, honest. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing! Only I know how to do it the proper way.’ ” Bilbo heard all this as he stood behind them. He looked to Ori standing beside immediately, wanting to say something, anything at all. He looked as if he was about to cry.  
  
“Oh, don’t be so mean.” Ruiwen said, their face covered in what was the aftermath of their exploding feather. But it was too late, Bilbo thought, as Ori began to race back down the stairwell, face buried in the stack of books he carried. Bofur stopped as he heard what sounded like crying and Ori’s footsteps as he disappeared into the Entrance Hall.  
  
“I think he heard you.” Bilbo said.  
  
But Bofur shrugged. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”  
  
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Bilbo said again, beginning to walk up to where they stood.  
  
Bofur didn’t say anything back, instead climbing the rest of the stairs with Ruiwen and Bilbo, reaching the warrior portrait and entering the common room.  
  
They spent the rest of the afternoon in the common room, playing Creatures Chess, which Bilbo still could not understand, and mentioned nothing of Ori at all. Bilbo tried to put it out of his mind, what the poor boy must be thinking, what he might tell to his brothers - Bilbo shivered at the thought - and could not help but feel a little bit guilty. He knew what it was like, not having many friends. He could not blame Ori for taking their cold shoulders so personally.  
  
At a quarter to five, the Gryffindors began to head towards the Great Hall for the Hallow’s Eve feast. The ghosts had put in their share of macabre effects, appearing suddenly from behind suits of armour, or shrieking around the castle at most unhelpful times. Gollum, the resident poltergeist, was of no difference, instead staying exactly the same, chasing students out of classrooms and throwing candles about. Ruiwen had made a remark about him being much like a tantrum-having child, and Bilbo could see it’s truth.  
  
Once they were in the Entrance Hall, Bilbo searched around for a glimpse of Ori amongst the students. He continued looking until he heard Ori’s name being said, and turned to see Godelina and Aldreda speaking in the corner. Bilbo listened discreetly as they entered the Great Hall.  
  
“Oh, right, the Hufflepuff boy?” Godelina said to her friend. “Wasn’t he in the Prefects Bathroom before?”  
  
“I think he’s still there, Gode.” Aldreda replied. “I could hear crying all through that corridor.”  
  
But before Bilbo could hear anything else, Bofur pulled him aside, and he saw the Great Hall decorated for the evening amazingly. Lit pumpkins hung from the ceiling alongside the candles, and the sky above them was a dark cloudy sky, with lighting strikes that hung in the clouds. Bats flew around the hall, making the students duck as they took their seats at the empty golden plates set in front of them. Just as it had at the beginning of the year, the plates filled with food immediately, some set aside with sweets and cakes.  
  
The hall was loud, with the rumbling thunder and student’s conversations. Bilbo was asked many questions about Quidditch by older Gryffindors, and was able to see Nori snatching potatoes off his friend’s plates. Bofur and Bombur conversed in Khuzdul, and were laughing very loudly at something at the staff table, which, as Bilbo soon noticed, was Thranduil’s overly large cape that was made of a very transparent material. Fili and Kili kept trying to see if they could throw cookies into the opening of the pumpkins up ahead, and kept losing to Tauriel, who got four in a row in, and took Kili’s piece of iced cake as her prize. Ghosts wandered around, sometimes stopping to speak with the students, and Bilbo saw Balin the Nearly-Headless, the Gryffindor house ghost showing off his head trick to the students of other tables.  
  
Bilbo was nearly finished with a pumpkin pasty and was beginning a story to the Ur brothers about the time his aunt was scared by an auctioneer, thinking he was headless for having his coat collar folded so high, when the great oak doors burst open. Every head turned to see Professor Oakenshield racing into the hall, a look of terror on his face. Professor Gandalf stood in the sudden silence as Oakenshield stopped in front of him, and shouted “There’s a troll! One in the dungeons! I’ve-I’ve just seen it.”  
  
As he finished this last sentence, he began to stagger backwards, and shouted it again to the whole of the hall. “Troll! Troll in the dungeons!”  
  
At once, the hall erupted. There was plates knocked over, students racing towards the doors, worried shouting in many different languages, all before Professor Gandalf could silence them by setting off a firework.  
  
“There is no need for panic.” he announced, everyone frozen in place. Bilbo felt like running straight out of the castle. “House heads, please lead your students back towards their common rooms to stay there. All staff will follow me.” He looked at Oakenshield, who had regained his balance. “Including you.”  
  
Dori lead them out and up the stairs, calling to the first-years to stay in line, as if they would want to go anywhere else. Bilbo could not get a word he understood out of Bofur or Bombur, who were talking in quick Khuzdul. Bilbo bumped into a rushing Hufflepuff girl, and was instantly reminded of something. He grabbed Bofur’s arm.  
  
“What?” Bofur said, being jerked to a stand-still in the middle of the stairwell.  
  
“Bofur, it’s Ori.” Bilbo gasped. “He’s in the Prefects bathroom. He doesn’t know about the troll.”  
  
Before he could allow Bofur to protest, Bilbo dragged him by the arm the opposite way, down to the fourth floor. He remembered there was a portrait that lead to the Prefect’s bathroom, he could remember it from the first day of classes…as they reached the portrait of Edwarde the Elegant, Bilbo let go of Bofur’s arm, who was cursing very loudly, so loudly that Edwarde turned to look their way.  
  
“And what is it you want?” he asked snottily.  
  
“What’s your password?” Bilbo demanded.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“We need to get to the Prefect’s bathroom. What’s your password?” Bilbo demanded once more. Bofur was looking around to see if anyone was watching them.  
  
“Serpens.” Edwarde huffed, swinging open. “Go, go, I haven’t got a care.”  
  
“Why are we going to get him?” Bofur asked as Bilbo pulled him forward into the dark space behind the portrait. “He hasn’t done anything for us.”  
  
“Because, if we don’t, he very well might get mauled by a troll!” Bilbo exclaimed, pushing forward into another hallway.  
  
Bofur let out a heavy breath of disapproval. “Trolls aren’t even that dangerous. Besides, how far away is this from the dungeons? I bet - ”  
  
But Bilbo didn’t hear the end of his sentence, because just then he heard a loud shuffling noise, a low grunt, and looked to see an enormous shadow on the wall opposite them. A putrid smell hit Bilbo’s nose, and he began to cough violently.  
  
“This isn’t the dungeon, is it?” Bofur asked, his tone changed in a second.  
  
“I think the troll’s left the dungeon now.” Bilbo croaked out.  
  
The two of them shrunk into the corner, and watched as the shadow began to emerge into view. It was a truly hideous sight; nearly ten feet tall and covered in boils over its grey skin, it slumped around, its feet hitting the ground with a slapping sound. It dragged a wooden club in its long arms, and smelt of everything horrible Bilbo had ever smelt in his life. The troll dragged itself towards a large door, pulling itself inside, and leaving Bofur and Bilbo outside.  
  
“What do we do now?” Bilbo asked in dismay. He did not know if the troll had wandered into the Prefect’s bathroom or not, but had a suspicion - one that was confirmed only a second later, when a terrified outcry came from inside the door.  
  
Bofur went as pale as a ghost. “Ori.” he gasped, and the two of them raced towards the door, fumbling to pull it open.  
  
The Prefect’s bathroom was awfully pretty, except for the fact that it had a ten-foot troll standing in the middle of it, and a small Hufflepuff boy cowering underneath a sink. The troll smashed its club into a stall, and Ori screamed again, causing the troll to stop and notice where he was.  
  
Without thinking, Bilbo grabbed a bar of soap and flung it at the troll. Bofur followed suit, picking up pieces of the stall the troll had just knocked down and tossing them at its ugly head. “Get out!” he called to Ori, and Ori made a duck for the door just as the troll’s club came crashing into the sink he had just been hiding under. The troll heard Bofur’s shout, and now faced him.  
  
Bilbo reached out to grab Ori, who was clutching a metal pipe very close to his chest. “Come on, get out!” Bilbo yelled, but Ori did not hear him, instead flinging the metal pipe at the troll’s neck . The troll let out a great roar, and charged straight at Bofur, who was standing straight in the middle of the room.  
  
Bilbo panicked. That was the only way to explain what happened next. He jumped up onto the sink and leaped forward, grabbing onto the troll’s shoulder and fastened his arms around its neck. Bofur shouted, jumping out of the way and crashing into Ori, sending both of them spiralling onto the floor. Bilbo stuck his wand into the back of the troll’s head, feeling himself lose his balance as the floor shook him off its neck, howling in pain. He could feel himself slipping, the troll was reaching for his club, any second he would be hitting something very hard and painful…  
  
“Wingardium Leviosa!” came a voice from the floor, and Bilbo looked to see Bofur brandishing his wand, pointed at the club. It flew from the troll’s hand, rose in the air, and then dropped straight down onto its head. With a sickening crack, the troll began to sway, and fell to the floor, taking Bilbo with him, who did not collide with the ground, instead with the back of the troll he had just been on top of. Bofur and Ori rushed towards him, dragging him by the hands off the troll and holding him up. No one said anything as Ori took Bilbo’s wand from the troll’s neck, where it had been embedded.  
  
“Did you - did you kill it?” Ori stumbled.  
  
Bofur shook his head, staring at the troll. “I think it’s been knocked out.”  
  
“Put me down.” Bilbo grunted, Bofur letting go and letting Bilbo stand on his own.  
  
The Prefect’s bathroom was absolutely trashed. There were shards of wood everywhere, broken stalls and sinks spraying water everywhere, not to mention the dents in the ceiling put there by the ten-foot troll now lying face first on the ground. Rushing footsteps came towards the bathroom, consisting of Professors Elrond, Thranduil, and Oakenshield, all with wands at the ready. Elrond gasped as he saw the troll, making all three boys look up with surprise. They must have alerted the whole castle to the troll’s presence, what with all the roaring and shouting.  
  
“What were you three doing here?” Oakenshield questioned them. Bilbo had never seen him this angry yet. “You should be dead!” he shouted, pointing at the troll. “That could have killed you all!”  
  
Thranduil was examining the troll. Bilbo saw a gash on red on his leg through his cape, a very nasty-looking one at that. All three boys stared at the floor, but before Oakenshield could shout anything else, Ori spoke in a very quiet and shaky voice.  
  
“Professor, I’m sorry.” he said tensely. I’m sorry, they came looking for me. It’s my fault.”  
  
“What do you mean, Ori?” Elrond asked in a dead calm voice.  
  
Ori took a shallow breath. “They were looking for me - Bofur and Bilbo. I heard about the troll, I - I thought I could take it myself. That’s why - why I was here. I’d be dead if they hadn’t came.” he stuttered.  
  
Bilbo and Bofur stared at each other, trying to keep their mouths closed. Ori was lying through his teeth to a teacher, three of them, in fact, something they thought he wasn’t even capable of.  
  
Elrond looked at them. “How did you do this?” he asked.  
  
“Bilbo jumped on it.” Bofur explained tersely. “I dropped the club on it.”  
  
Everyone stared at the troll. It did not move, did not make a sound. Oakenshield was first to break the silence. “You did this yourselves?” he asked.  
  
They nodded.  
  
Elrond sighed. “Glorison, I… how could you think that you could take on a fully-grown mountain troll on your own? Thirty points from Hufflepuff. As for you two…” he turned to Bilbo and Bofur. “that was a feat, a dangerous feat nonetheless, but well-done. Ten points to Gryffindor each. I’m lucky to see you alive.”  
  
They nodded again, Bilbo still in disbelief that Ori had told a lie to a teacher. It was about as believable as Bofur becoming best friends with Legolas.  
  
“Go back up to your common rooms.” Oakenshield instructed them. “Unless you have any injuries. And don’t even think of doing this again.”  
  
Before anyone else could tell them different, the three boys left, heading down the corridor in silence. They reached the portrait of where Edwarde was, but seeing as he had hidden away from the troll, the coward he was, they were resigned to taking the long way.  
  
As they got to the Entrance Hall, Ori broke the silence. “Thanks.” he mumbled.  
  
“Any time.” Bofur mumbled back, to Bilbo’s surprise. Without saying another word, the three of them parted ways, Ori to the Hufflepuff’s common room and Bilbo and Bofur to theirs.  
  
There are some things that can be stopped easily. You can stop a Bludger hitting someone, for instance, or a boy going into the girl’s bathroom. But some things can’t be stopped as easily, or even at all, due to their own insane circumstances, and the three boys becoming friends after that Hallow’s Eve was one of them. You don’t just knock out a troll together without becoming at least a little bit closer, after all.


	13. A Dangerous Affair, Indeed

Bilbo’s first Quidditch match was soon. Much too soon. After the incident with the Troll on Hallow’s Eve, he had wanted nothing but at least some time to get back on his feet. But Nori had thrown them back into practice as early as November the second. Their first match was in only a fortnight, and it was versus no one else but Ravenclaw.  
  
Practices were going well. Bilbo was quicker at spotting the Snitch after a few practices, and was better at not getting scared of Bludgers coming his way. Speaking of Bludgers, Fili and Kili had started a competition of how many times they could hit the Bludgers towards someone by the end of the year. This would have been alright with everyone if they didn’t keep track so audibly. Bilbo would be on a chase for the Snitch, and suddenly hear Fili call out “Six!”, hearing the crack of a bat hitting the side of a Bludger, and would turn around quickly to see where it had been aimed to, losing his lead on the Snitch.  
  
Asides from Quidditch practices, there was nothing truly interesting or out-of-the-ordinary happening in their lessons. The only other thing worth focusing on rather than Quidditch was that of all the strange things involving magical beasts that had been happening to Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori. The Troll on Hallow’s Eve had forced them to think about the Dragon on the third floor again, and it was not a pleasant set of thoughts to have. Perhaps they were connected, Bilbo was thinking. Perhaps the Troll was another guardian of whatever was underneath the Dragon. Of which, Bilbo had told Bofur and Ori about the package Beorn had taken from Gringotts that summer.  
  
Ori’s reaction was immediate. “We have to ask him about it!”  
  
“Are you mad? D’you really think he’d tell us what was in it?” Bofur said, leaning over the armchair to get closer to Bilbo’s seat on the floor. They were in the common room, just past dinner hour. Ori had been snuck in by them, the warrior portrait keeping them out for ten minutes as she questioned them. They had been discussing the Troll and Dragon for a while when Bilbo decided to tell them.  
  
“Obviously not, he’d never tell three first-years what was being guarded by a Dragon.” Ori agreed. “We aren’t supposed to know about the Dragon, aren’t we?”  
  
“Maybe we could trick him into telling us.” Bilbo suggested.  
  
“He’s a teacher, Bilbo!” Ori protested. “We could get into so much trouble if he finds out what-“  
  
“But, see, we’ve already found out more than we should have.” Bofur said, not arguing with him. “And we got away with it all, didn’t we?”  
  
Ori groaned, leaning back on the floor. “That’s not the point. The point is, we shouldn’t be sticking ourselves into situations we know nothing about.”  
  
“We already have, that’s what Bofur said.” Bilbo told him. “The Dragon was going to be discovered by someone if we didn’t do it first. The Troll wasn’t supposed to be there and probably would have been chased out by someone if we didn’t get there first. We’ve been doing things that were meant to be done by someone else, and it’s too late to pretend we didn’t.”  
  
“Exactly.” Bofur said. “There really isn’t a use for just brushing it off by now.”  
  
“We can’t expect Beorn to tell us anything.” Ori agreed. “But…”  
  
And no one said anything else, because they really didn’t know what to do. Bilbo did wish that he wasn’t worried about any of this, but as he did say, it was too late. He could only hope that the situation wasn’t as dangerous as it looked.  
  
Winter was coming soon, which meant they would be departing from the school soon. Not Bilbo, however. He would stay at Hogwarts over the break, without his friends and close enough to being alone in the castle.  
  
“You can’t be the only one staying.” Bofur told him after Defence Against the Dark Arts that afternoon. “Loads of us probably can’t make the journey.”  
  
“What holiday are we even supposed to be going home for?” Bilbo asked, avoiding stepping on a trick stair Gollum had set up. He had taken into mind where all the fall-through steps were after Hallow’s Eve, deciding not wanting to be slowed down by them in the near future.  
  
“Durin’s Day.” Bofur answered, following Bilbo’s step.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“It’s in November. You can see the sun and moon in the sky at the same time. Also just the change of season for everyone else.”  
  
Bilbo pushed open a stone door that lead towards the dungeon. “I don’t see why that’s a holiday. And for just Dwarves, right? Why are they letting us go home for that?”  
  
Bofur sighed. “You’re hopeless, y’know that? Never mind, I’m staying with you.”  
  
Bilbo stopped. “You’re staying?”  
  
“I’ll ask Dís if she’ll let me.” Bofur said. Bilbo felt like jumping into the air. No one had ever thought of giving up a day for him, much less a holiday.  
  
“You didn't have to.” Bilbo said, trying to hide his sheer happiness at the fact that he wouldn’t be alone for weeks.  
  
“Don’t mind it. I hear Ruiwen’s staying as well.”  
  
They entered the Potions classroom, the cold air immediately chilling them. Professor Thranduil stood at the front of the room, holding a brass scale. Bilbo moved hastily to his seat beside the wall.  
  
“Does anyone have an idea as to what I am holding in my hand?” Thranduil asked them slowly.  
  
Aldreda raised her hand. “A brass scale, sir.”  
  
“What is on the scale, Duskmere?” Thranduil said, pushing one side of the scale around.  
  
Bilbo squinted to try and see. He could just make out a small pile of leaves on one side, and on the other - his heart skipped a beat - a tiny vial of a red, thick liquid he could see was blood. Bilbo looked away as the contents began to swirl around.  
  
“I don’t know, sir.” Alreda admitted. “I can’t see them.”  
  
Thranduil set down the scale. “Five points from Gryffindor. I have on this scale, leaves of Dittany, and a vial of Salamander’s blood. Does anyone know what these can make, if combined with extra ingredients?”  
  
“A Wiggenweld Potion, sir.” Taraneth answered from behind Bilbo, not missing a second. “It’s a Healing potion, and is used to awaken anyone from a magically-produced sleep.”  
  
“Five points to Ravenclaw.” Thranduil said, taking out a box of something Bilbo could not see. “You will be making Wiggenweld Potion this afternoon, and we will be testing them. I would advise you to not mess this potion up. It is very tricky, very precise, and very important that you make correctly to heal the sleeping. Begin.”  
  
The copy of Clayhanger’s Magical Drafts and Potions did indeed have a set of instructions for the Wiggenweld potion - three whole pages of it. The first simply named the ingredients needed, some of which Bilbo wondered if he could find in a school Potions classroom. The potion was supposed to turn out green in the end, and give off a scent of pond lilies.  
  
Ten minutes later, the classroom smelled nothing even remotely like pond lilies. Bilbo’s potion was going as well as he thought it could, it had turned blue when he added the Dittany leaves just as the instructions had said it should, and he had managed to not blow up his cauldron. Taraneth, seated behind him, was muttering the amounts of each ingredient she had to put in, and was throwing Bilbo’s off. Bofur, seated beside him, had a potion a watery shade of blue, and kept misplacing his cutting knife.  
  
“Which do I add after the Dittany, the Honeywater or the Moondew?” Bilbo asked, handing Bofur’s knife back to him for the third time.  
  
“Moondew.” he said, slicing up a small black bean and throwing it into the cauldron. It let out a puff of smoke, and began to turn an ocean blue.  
  
“What did you add?” Bilbo asked, peering over at the potion quickly turning a darker shade.  
  
Bofur shrugged. “I think they were the Chizpurfle fangs.”  
  
The cauldron began to emit a squeal, and Taraneth looked up from her potion.  
  
“What did you add?”  
  
“I’ve just asked, he thinks it’s the Chizpurfle fangs.” Bilbo told her. The cauldron continued to squeal and was now bubbling.  
  
“Obviously, I’ve done something wrong.” Bofur sighed.  
  
Taraneth reached over and grabbed another one of the black beans. She held it up to her nose, and gagged.  
  
“Where did you get these?” she questioned.  
  
Bofur’s cauldron had now attracted the attention of everyone on their side of the room. Thranduil had not noticed, for he was praising Legolas on his potion near the front of the room. The potion had turned an empty shade of black, and was squealing so loudly Bilbo was covering his ears.  
  
“I found them in the cupboard!” Bofur told her, now beginning to panic. “I’m just following the steps! Look, number nine, cut up a - oh, no.”  
  
The cauldron began to shake. Bilbo jumped back from it, pressing himself against the wall.  
  
“Do something!” he shouted, finally catching the attention of Thranduil, who began to march over to the panicking students that had crowded around, or rather, backing away from Bofur’s desk.  
  
Bofur was frantic. His cauldron was shaking violently, sending drops of black liquid onto his books and robes. He grabbed his wand.  
  
“Stop!” he called, whacking his wand on the rim of the cauldron. “Stop doing that!” he shouted again, words Bilbo was sure had absolutely no magical powers, but just as he was to say that there was a crack, and Bofur gasped.  
  
The cauldron was tipping. Taraneth grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders and jerked him back. Thranduil took out his wand.  
  
“Evanesco.” he stated calmly, and Bilbo watched as the cauldron fell, clanging onto the hard stone floor, yet spilling none of the thick black liquid it had carried moments before.  
  
Bilbo breathed a great sigh of relief. Taraneth let go of his shoulders, wiping her hands on her robes as though she had touched a toad. Thranduil marched up to the fallen cauldron, returning it to its upright position. Bilbo watched as Thranduil’s face scowled, gazing inside the empty bowl.  
  
“What did you put in this cauldron, Tarvemson?” he said through his teeth to Bofur. But Bofur didn’t answer. Bilbo was about to nudge him, tell him that Thranduil looked ready to feed him to the third floor Dragon, but realized what Bofur was focusing on: his wand.  
  
Or, rather, the two halves of his wand. Bofur’s wand had split into two when he hit the cauldron with it, and now held two pieces of broken wood in his hand. He was staring down at them, eyes wide as they could be, lips trembling.  
  
“Bofur Tarvemson.” Thranduil addressed firmly. “What did you put in this cauldron?”  
  
Taraneth answered for him. “He thinks it was the Chizpurfle fangs.” And she handed him one of the black beans Bofur hadn’t yet cut up.  
  
Thranduil held it in his hand, all eyes on him. The Potions classroom was fearfully silent, Bofur still staring at his broken wand. Thranduil rolled the bean around a few times in his hand, before throwing it to the ground. It smashed into pieces.  
  
“That was a Ashwinder egg.” He glared at Bofur. “Why would you even think of putting this in a potion?”  
  
Bofur finally looked up from his wand. Thranduil towered over all of them, giving off a shadow onto the Dwarf that seemed to shrink his size. “I-I didn’t know, sir…I’m sorry, I thought they were fangs…”  
  
“Detention.” Thranduil hissed. “For a week.” He strutted back towards his desk, footsteps echoing on the stone floor. “Everyone else can return to their work.”  
  
Bilbo never did finish his Wiggenweld potion, and he thought no one else did, either. It was a grimy yellow colour when Thranduil announced they were to be done. Thranduil didn’t even take a vial of Bilbo’s; he simply looked in, said the same vanishing spell he had used on Bofur’s unfortunate concoction, and walked away. Bofur was clutching his broken wand for the rest of the class, whimpering something along the lines of “Dís’ll have my head for this.” Bilbo had no idea how to help with a broken wand. Could it be put back together, perhaps? Or was it simply split forever? Either way, you couldn’t perform magic without a wand, and so Bofur was right to worry. Bilbo wondered if there was any way it could be replaced. He’d have to go home and get a new one, wouldn’t he? That meant Bilbo would be alone for winter in the castle. But there were priorities to take into consideration, and he was sure that getting a wand fixed was higher than staying at Hogwarts for the holidays.  
  
Bofur tried to fix his wand for the rest of the night. Bilbo and Ori met him in the library, wrapping gauze around the broken pieces. Ori searched in books to see if there was anything on repairing a broken wand, but no spells they could perform had any power. After an hour of searching and tampering, the boys decided their best option was to give up.  
  
“Write home, maybe your mum will get you another one?” Ori suggested, but Bilbo knew better.  
  
“I don’t want to give Dís any more trouble than she’s already got.” Bofur sighed, placing the now glued together wand back into his robes. “I might ask Elrond if he knows anything.”  
  
“You should ask Beorn when we go and talk to him.” Ori said, as they exited the library. “Dori told me he’s fixed his own wand back when he got it broken.”  
  
“How did he know that?” Bilbo asked, but Ori shrugged.  
  
“When are we going to talk to him, anyways?” Bofur asked.  
  
“We should go after my Quidditch game.” Bilbo suggested.  
  
Bofur shook his head, his twin braids moving around with him as he did so. “Too far away.”  
  
“I say we go on Saturday.” Ori said. “That way we can stay longer, maybe get more out of him.”  
  
“It’s not an interrogation.” Bilbo emphasized. ‘We’re asking if he can tell us anything about the Dragon on the third floor. And if he can’t, we’re not asking anything else at all.”  
  
So was the notion in their minds as they set off down towards the little hut beside the forest, two days later, frost beginning to form on the trees in the valley. Bofur’s wand was still hopelessly snapped; Elrond had simply shook his head and sighed when they came to him for advice. Bilbo had gotten him to write to Dís, mentioning both the wand and winter break, two options Bilbo was sure could not happen at the same time.  Bilbo shivered in the cold as Ori knocked on Beorn’s door. The weather had arrived suddenly, rolling in over the lake with chilling winds much too early for their November date. It had seemed that once Hallow’s Eve passed, the weather had taken its final leap into winter preparation, an event the professors were not pleased with, seeing as the students started showing up to classes in coats and mittens out of the uniform more often. It seemed, on the contrary, that Beorn had welcomed the cold weather, seeing as he sported a long wool scarf with his usual heavy coat, letting the boys come inside to the heated hut.  
  
“I got your raven, Bilbo.” he said, dusting off a patched pillow and tossing it at the windowsill. “What’d you boys want to see me for?”  
  
Bofur coughed. “Oh, just to ask a few things. First, d’you have any idea how to fix a broken wand?” He presented his poorly tied-together wand.  
  
Beorn thought on it. “Hm. Have you tried charming it back together?”  
  
They nodded. “We couldn’t do any of the spells.”  
  
“Yes, right, right. Well, did you try putting it inside a vessel?”  
  
“A what?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“A vessel, kind of like a container.” Beorn explained. “Hold on…ah, no, never mind it, that takes advanced magic.”  
  
“Well, how’d you do yours?” Ori asked, jumping up to sit on the windowsill.  
  
Beorn frowned. “Someone helped me with a vessel. Never mind it, anyway, how are your lessons?”  
  
“Difficult.” Ori said, surprising Bilbo. Ori had being doing perfectly fine in each and every class Bilbo saw him in. Why would he be claiming they were challenging him? “No one can seem to figure out how to levitate anything in Charms.” Of course, he wasn’t speaking about himself.  
  
Beorn lightened immediately at the mention of levitation. “Difficult, is it? How could any of you be having trouble, after you got that Troll on Hallow’s Eve? That was a feat, if I’ve ever heard of one. Congratulations on still being alive!” He laughed, taking off his scarf and beginning to wrap it around his arm.  
  
Bilbo swallowed. He had to ask him now. “Well, actually, speaking of Trolls…this wasn’t exactly the first time we’d come across a creature in the castle.”  
  
Beorn stopped laughing. His scarf fell from his arm, only half wrapped around. “What do you mean?”  
  
“We didn’t mean to, see,” Bofur began. “but it was just a month ago, we got tricked-“  
  
“They got tricked.” Ori interrupted, keen to exclude himself from the suspected wrongdoing.  
  
“Yes, me and Bilbo, but Ori was there too.” he corrected. “We got tricked, and found ourselves being chased down by Radagast, and had to end up hiding in the Carvings room, which is a really beautiful place, really-“  
  
“What’s your point, Bofur?” Beorn asked dully.  
  
Bilbo sighed. “We accidentally ran into the third floor corridor, and we saw a Dragon there.”  
  
Beorn didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Bilbo feared they were about to get shouted at, but it didn’t happen. Instead, Beorn picked the scarf back up, and continued wrapping it around his wrist. “Oh, you mean Sol. Don’t mind him, he’s just there to do his job.”  
  
“Sol? Sun?” Ori asked, swinging his feet about from atop the windowsill. “Why is he even in the school?”  
  
“I’ve just told you, it’s for a job.” Beorn said, finishing wrapping his scarf, and unravelling it immediately after. “None of your business, really.”  
  
“We think,” Bilbo began, not wanting to say outrightly that he knew about the Gringotts package’s importance. “that the Dragon, Sol, I mean, might be guarding something.”  
  
Beorn laughed. “Why would you think that?”  
  
“There was a trapdoor under his feet.” Ori said. “And Bilbo told us something about an important package.”  
  
Beorn stared at them. No one said anything again, and Bilbo could feel that Ori had obviously hit a portion of interest, or rather, Beorn’s secret. “Listen.” he began, in a low voice. “I’m not going to tell you anything more than you already know. You three shouldn’t be knowing about anything in that corridor, and I’m stopping you going any further. What’s under that trapdoor is secret, top secret, and it’s between me, Professor Gandalf, and the King Under the Mountain.” He paused, a look of realization spreading across his face. “I shouldn't have said that.” he whispered. “You didn’t hear me say that.”  
  
But they had, and it opened up an entirely new world of questions to ask. Before anyone could open their mouth, however, Beorn opened up the door, and hurried them out. The door slammed behind them, the cold air biting at Bilbo’s bare feet the second he stepped outside.  
  
“King Under the Mountain.” he heard Bofur say. “I’ve heard that somewhere before, I know it.”  
  
“It does sound familiar.” Ori said cautiously. “What do you think he means?”  
  
Bilbo shrugged. “I’ve got no idea. It must’ve just slipped out, or else he wouldn’t have reacted that way. But I’ve never heard the title before.”  
  
“That’s because it’s a Dwarvish title.” Bofur exclaimed, snapping his fingers as if he had just remembered something. “I knew I’d heard it before. We have to go to the library.”

  


So, indeed, they arrived at the library, cold and out of breath from their dash up towards the castle. Bofur had been able to tell them all he could remember on their way up.  
  
“The King Under the Mountain,” he gasped, slipping slightly on an icy patch of ground. “is the title of the king of Erebor, a former Dwarvish kingdom, further east.”  
  
“Hang on, I know what you’re talking about, a small bit of it.” Bilbo said, as he climbed up towards the courtyard. “Didn’t Erebor fall, really recently?” He remembered the Dwarves in Diagon Alley, all hovering around Gringotts, their expressions crushed. It had been Beorn who had informed him of Erebor’s residents, those Dwarves without homes. He had said the kingdom had been destroyed, but by whom’s force he had never told.  
  
“Right, yes, well, the kingdom fell only a few years back, and the king died with it, I remember my mum telling me.” Bofur continued. “Smaug set out to destroy it, but he couldn’t do it. It really wasn’t until - oh, of course!”  
  
“What?” Ori pressed, once they were near the castle doors.  
  
“I’ll tell you once we’re in the library. I need to know I’m right.”  
  
And now that they were in the library, and Bofur had found a rather large and dusty book with the name ‘Great Rulers: Third Edition’ printed on it, he began to speak again.  
  
“There was a stone.” he explained, flipping through the pages, not paying much attention to Bilbo and Ori on either side of him. “The Arkenstone. Hidden in the vaults of Erebor that they said could cure anything, give power and money to whoever had it. Almost like it was magic, ‘cept it wasn’t. It might have been charmed, but once it was stolen, Erebor fell. Smaug came back for a second time and destroyed it, without a doubt because it wasn’t there to protect them anymore.”  
  
“I’m sorry, what was it called?” Bilbo asked, trying to read something on a dust-covered page Bofur turned over.  
  
“Arkenstone.” Ori said, rolling the word around on his tongue, until he gasped. “You’re right! Oh, by the earth, you must be right!”  
  
“They never found the thing, did they?” Bofur said, still flipping through the pages, obviously searching for something he was having no luck finding. “Someone stole it, most probably one of the Dragon’s followers, and they never found it again.”  
  
“I think I have an idea on what Sol might be hiding.” Bilbo said, a conclusion dawning on him.  
  
“You don’t think that they have the Arkenstone inside Hogwarts, do you?” Ori questioned, his eyes still wide. “Could they?”  
  
“It was in a pretty small package in Gringotts. Was it a small stone?”  
  
“Bright white and glowing with colours.” Bofur recalled, shutting the book. “Only the size of a Dwarf’s hand.”  
  
Bilbo stared at Bofur’s gloved hand. “That must be it, then.”  
  
“Do you know what we’ve just discovered?” Ori exclaimed at a whisper. “Bilbo, if you’re right…”  
  
“We can’t get out of this now, you realize?” Bofur told them. “It’s too late to pretend we don’t know about this, it’s too big an issue.”  
  
“And that’s perfectly fine.” Bilbo stated, dropping his hands onto the table. “We can’t get into too much danger, can we?”  
  
Ori brushed back one of his small braids. “I don’t know. The Dragon was too much, even then, but now we’re talking about the Arkenstone. It’s supposed to be so powerful, Bilbo, you’ve got no idea. They’re obviously keeping it here for safety. But if our word gets out, we could ruin it all.”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “Which is why we won’t let our word get out. I trust you two. You’re my friends. Besides, if we play it right, it might even be a little bit fun.”  
  
Ori rolled his eyes, but nodded in agreement. He was right; the whole situation was highly dangerous, especially now they knew exactly what was being hidden and just how many lengths Hogwarts was going to in order to keep it safe. But it was too late. It had been so for a while now.  
  
Bofur picked the book back up. “That’s good and all, but I can’t find anything here about the king who had anything to do with the Arkenstone. No one even mentions Erebor in this book.”  
  
“Well, then, we’ll have to dig for it, won’t we?” Bilbo said, and the others seemed to silently agree. Bilbo was worried, he had every right to be, but what he had said about it maybe becoming fun could be right. He had said he was up for an adventure, didn’t he?

  


It was only a few days later when, at breakfast, Bofur got a letter back from Dís. Presenting it proudly to Bilbo, his expression of worry and sheepishness was broken by a smile, so similar to the one Bilbo had seen on him on the train back in September. The letter read, in neat and rune-like script:  
  
“Bofur, dear,  
I’ve received your raven about the wand - breaking incident. And I say, don’t lose any sleep over it, we’ll get it fixed completely over the winter. Just send back whatever you have left of the last one, and I’m sure Óin can work his way into charming it back together! This one, you ought to be a little more careful with.  
Your brother is writing to me every week. He says he’s lost his toad, Abzag. Have you seen it anywhere? I’d hate for him to lose a pet. Fili and Kili aren’t writing as much, otherwise. Could you pester them to do so?  
As for your request about staying over on Durin's Day, I give it my approval and with happiness. Tell Bilbo that if he ever needs anything to simply write to me, and I’ll get it on the double.  
Bifur sent a thrush a few days ago. He says the Horntail he’s got has been the talk of Moira ever since it set a tavern aflame. I certainly hope he’s not hurting anyone with his never-ending talk of dragons!  
Much love,  
Dís, wife of Vili, lady of Ered Luin.”  
  
Bilbo couldn’t help but feel as he saw his best friend smile and felt the long rooted loneliness in his heart fading that the adventure he had signed on for would possibly be one of the best decisions he ever made.


	14. Quidditch

Much to Bilbo’s dislike, their time to attempt at finding anything more on the Arkenstone was cut short by the upcoming Quidditch game Bilbo was to play in. Nori had scheduled extra practices after and before nearly every day of classes in the week in his current drastic means to beat Ravenclaw. Bilbo suspected it had something to do with Thranduil’s classes. Which, mind you, was one of the reasons Bilbo also felt a desire to win, but it also involved seeing Legolas’s face when Bilbo soared around the pitch, Golden Snitch in hand.  
  
The thought of this fuelled him through the early morning practices, in which not even Fili and Kili had any desire to cause shenanigans. This might have been the work of Tauriel, however, seeing as once Kili had hit his sixtieth Bludger that just happened to whip past her head ever-so-closely, she had shouted at him for a good five minutes in front of the rest of them. Bilbo had never seen Kili so careful with a Bludger bat after that happened.  
  
Bofur and Ori would sometimes come to the pitch after classes to see their practices, each with their own reasons. Nori did try to ban his little brother from spectating during the times, his excuse being that he was a Hufflepuff and “you never know who’s to trust when it comes to Quidditch.”. But Ori showed up nevertheless to do his essays and remark about how Nori used to pretend he was the top Seeker in the world when they were younger, a conversation Bilbo could overhear when he had no sight of the Snitch.  
  
Speaking of him, Ori, that is, Bilbo was immensely glad that he had him as a friend now. What with Nori’s extra practices, he was falling behind in his homework, and had begun to resort to doing them at the last minute before class. Ori had begun to help with the History of Magic essays given to Bofur and Bilbo, seeing as he was the only one of the three who felt no desire to sleep during Professor Angmar’s lengthy lectures on the importance of the Simaril, as well as sneak out to the large windows in the stairwell at night to complete their star-charts for Astronomy. All three boys had become less uptight when it came to breaking rules since they had decided to take on the mystery that was the Dragon-guarded Arkenstone, and whether this was for the better or worse, Bilbo had no idea. The only concern he had about the midnight star-chart completions was whether or not Radagast would send his hare after them again.  
  
Winter had finally arrived in full, and no one could ignore the season any longer. As Bilbo gazed out the window in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom he saw the frost covering the branches of the giant oak that stood on the grounds. It was a Friday, the Quidditch match taking place only one day later. Professor Oakenshield was not in his usual place, behind the great carved wood desk that stood at the front of the room, and the class had taken his absence to their advantage. Godelina had charmed a paper bird to flutter around the classroom, and the Hufflepuff boys were reaching up to try and catch it. Bofur sat next to Bilbo, attempting to fold his own paper bird. He tossed the half-finished product to Ori, who now sat on the desk beside them.  
  
“What’s her charm?” he asked, looking as Godelina’s bird flew just out of the reach of Ruiwen.  
  
Ori gave a look, biting his lip noticeably as he hid his smile, and waved his wand a few times over the paper. It sprung up from the desk, waving a paper wing and taking a leap into the air. Bilbo laughed as Ori made it chase after Godelina’s, the students giving up on knocking them out of the air. The birds were dancing above them, flapping paper wings and twirling beautifully in the dim winter sunlight.  
  
No one took notice of the door opening behind them until Ori’s bird began to tear. It fell to the ground, ripping to shreds by an invisible force, and the laughter stopped. Bilbo turned his head to see not Oakenshield in the doorway, but Thranduil, who stood regally with his wand pointed at where the paper birds had been floating seconds ago. Godelina let hers fall as Thranduil marched through the classroom to the front, shutting the windows with a wave of the wand as he passed.  
  
“Thorin Oakenshield will not be instructing you today.” he stated, clasping his hands together as Bilbo looked on. “He has declined to explain why. Therefore, I shall take his place. Open your books to page three-hundred and ninety-four.”  
  
Bilbo got out his book, feeling his spirits darken to match the light of the room. Oakenshield had said something last lesson about teaching them the subject of Kelpies today. A brush of dust came off the book’s cover as Bilbo opened it up - they barely used these, much less as far into the book as Thranduil had told them to go.  
  
“But, sir, we haven’t done anything past a hundred and six.” Ori informed, not having taken out his book yet.  
  
“Has Oakenshield taught you anything past the subject of Grindylows?” Thranduil responded, staring down at everyone with their heads up.  
  
Ori nodded. “Yes, but-”  
  
“Then go to page three-hundred and ninety-four.” Thranduil told him.  
  
Bilbo sighed as he began to flip through his copy slowly. Bofur, beside him, was going through one page at a time. Thranduil saw them doing this and jabbed his wand towards them. Instantly, the books flipped themselves to the page, and Bilbo saw a great black drawing of a strangely scaled creature that he recognized.  
  
“Dragons?” he questioned as Thranduil turned his back.  
  
“We haven’t done anything on Dragons, yet, sir.” Bofur added.  
  
But Thranduil chose to ignore the class’s muffled chatter on the subject, instead, taking Oakenshield’s portrait of the Green Ridgeback off the wall and placing it at the centre of the room. “Can anyone say exactly how many dragon breeds there are?”  
  
Ori raised his hand into the air, but Thranduil overlooked him. “I will not be calling on you by your choice. Duskmere,” he said to Aldreda, who had been laughing quietly at something with Godelina and completely out of focus. “how many breeds of Dragons are there in Middle-Earth?”  
  
Aldreda stumbled. “Fif-fifteen?” she tried.  
  
Thranduil shook his head at her. “Ruiwen.” he went on.  
  
“Fifty-seven.” they said proudly. But Thranduil did not seem pleased with their answer, nevertheless.  
  
“Do not read ahead of us, Ruiwen.” he warned, sending Ruiwen’s proud smile straight off their face. “Fifty-seven known Dragon types live in Middle-Earth as of now. Can anyone say where they would be found?”  
  
Thranduil called on a Hufflepuff boy to answer, but Bilbo was paying more attention to the writing in his book, just under the ink drawing.  
  
‘Dragons are classed as one of the most dangerous beasts known to the world. They cannot be domesticated, and will often attack wizards and witches on their own accord. One of their most commonly known trait is that they are guards and hoarders, keeping piles of gold and treasures at their feet. There have been rare incidents in which wizards have been able to deceive a Dragon into guarding treasure for them, but all have ended catastrophically. It is advised that one does not try and enter a Dragon’s keep, instead, to stay far away, and let it keep what it has collected.’  
  
“So they must be tricking it.” Bilbo thought on the Dragon in the third floor corridor. “They’ve got a powerful treasure, and obviously the Dragon wants it, so-”  
  
“Baggins,” Thranduil called, snapping Bilbo back into the classroom. “what is the proper use for the heart of a Dragon?”  
  
Bilbo had no idea whatsoever. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.”  
  
Thranduil sighed loudly. “I assume you have not been listening for the last few minutes of my lesson. Very well.” He turned to the class. “For homework, all of you will write an essay in five hundred words, on the uses of each part of a Dragon.”  
  
The students groaned. Thranduil still stood calmly. “You have Bilbo Baggins to thank. I want it in my office on Monday morning.”  
  
“But sir, it’s Quidditch tomorrow!” Bilbo protested.  
  
“Then I advise you to start soon.” Thranduil snarled. Bilbo sighed, and shut his book as Thranduil began talking about Dragon eggs. Bofur had been flipping through the pages of his copy, now staring at a page with an illustration of a great red Dragon.  
  
“Do you think he knows about the third floor?” Bilbo asked Bofur in a whisper.  
  
Bofur nodded. “I think so. Have you seen the way he walks?”  
  
“What about it?” Bilbo had not noticed it before, as Thranduil as standing still, but he did now as the professor went to take another Dragon painting off the wall. He had a limp, ever so slightly, but his walk was out of balance for sure. Bilbo was suddenly reminded of Hallow’s Eve, and how he had seen blood through Thranduil’s robes on his leg.  
  
“Maybe he’s found it.” Bilbo mused, making an effort to listen to the lesson that had now turned onto the subject of Dragon breeders. “His leg was bleeding after we fought the Troll, I saw it.”  
  
“D’you think he might’ve been trying to get around it?” Bofur said, taking his eyes off the page. “Get the Stone? He seems to know an awful lot about Dragons.”  
  
Bilbo hadn’t thought on this before. He had assumed that it was only them and Gandalf and Beorn who knew about what was hidden on the third floor, never thinking that anyone would want to take it. But it would make sense if Thranduil had seen the Dragon, on the night of the Troll, when everyone else was going back to their dormitories, leaving him alone…  
  
“You might be onto something.” Bilbo whispered. 

  


That night, Bilbo’s nerves would not let him sleep. The only thing on his mind was the Quidditch game, set for just after breakfast that day. He was awoken two hours after he had gone to bed and nearly an hour before they were set to get up at by Mithril, who was pecking on the window, a letter in his beak. Rubbing his eyes, Bilbo pushed open the glass, and the raven flew inside, dropping his letter at Bilbo’s feet.  
  
“Thanks.” he mumbled, stroking the top of Mithril’s head. The bird crowed quietly, flapping it’s black wings.  
  
Bilbo began to tear into the envelope. It had his name written on it, but in a script he couldn’t recognize, and with no address to be returned to. He sat back down on his bed in the silence of everyone else still fast asleep, no worries about in their heads, and let a small piece of parchment drop onto his knee.  
  
‘Bilbo,’ he read quickly.  
‘I wanted to say good luck and goodbye to you now, in case I don’t see you this morning. Me and the rest of my family here at Hogwarts are leaving back home today, since mum doesn’t want us to get caught in a blizzard on Tuesday. I know you and Bofur are both staying, so I have a job for you: find out about the King Under the Mountain. I’m going to ask Da if he’s heard anything about the Stone, but until then, try looking in the restricted section of the library. I hear there’s some interesting books back there.  
Happy Durin’s Day, and see you in the new year - Ori.’  
  
Once he had finished reading Ori’s letter, he opened the window and shooed Mithril out. The restricted section - how had they not thought of this before? Of course, there was always the trouble of the librarian not allowing them in, and they had no secret way to conceal themselves in, but Bilbo agreed it may be worth a try. He folded up the letter, and laid back down.  
  
He spent the rest of the early hour lying in bed, attempting to fall back asleep but finding no rest. In four hours time, he would be playing a game he hadn’t even heard of before last month. Most of the confidence he had gained in practice was slipping away now. As he laid in bed he found his mind coming up with all the ways the match could go horribly wrong. The top three so far when the rest of the room began to wake were Bilbo crashing into the stands, Bilbo getting hit with a Bludger, and the Ravenclaw Chasers chasing after him instead of the Quaffle.  
  
The Great Hall was packed with an array of different colours. The Gryffindors were sporting their shades of golds and reds, with the Ravenclaws in their silvers and blues, along with some Slytherins and Hufflepuffs choosing their sides and borrowing scarves from the playing houses. Bilbo felt as if every eye was on him as he entered, wearing his slightly large players robes and sitting next to Ruiwen, who had crafted a rather large lion’s head to wear in support. His eyelids were drooping as he tried not to lean on Bofur, who was trying to write his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.  
  
“Bilbo, you have to eat something, you already look like you’re dying.” Ruiwen told him, pushing a plate of toast in front of his face.  
  
“I’m not hungry.” he lied.  
  
“Oh, come on, they’re right.” Bofur said, grabbing a goblet filled with pumpkin juice. “It’s always the Seekers that get tossed around.”  
  
“Thanks, Bofur.” Bilbo said tiredly.  
  
After finally giving in and having a roll and an apple for his food, Bilbo began to head down to the pitch. Ruiwen gave him good luck wishes up at the castle doors, for they had extra Herbology classes to do that morning before the game, and Bofur followed him down to the grounds. On the way, Bilbo informed him of Ori’s letter, and what he had said about the restricted section of the library. Bofur had a similar reaction to Ori’s suggestion.  
  
“But we’ve got no way to get in!” he said. “There’s probably a reason it’s restricted, you know, and they might not even have anything on the Arkenstone.”  
  
“We haven’t exactly got too many other options.” Bilbo reminded him. “We couldn’t find it in the regular library, could we?”  
  
“We’ll try over the break. Maybe some of the professors will go home.” Bofur said, nearly tripping over the last stone step set into the ground. The pitch wasn’t far, and Bilbo already could see the decorated stands, with house crests and colours. It would be empty for another two hours while the Gryffindors got time to practice (scheduled by Nori, though Bilbo suspected it wasn’t in the fairest way).  
  
Half the team was already standing on the pitch as Bilbo arrived, a few of them on their brooms already. Fili had a patch of a lion sewed onto his robes, and it flashed red and gold in the sunlight as Bilbo watched him hit Bludgers around with his brother, shouting out their numbers as they went along. Tauriel was on the ground, and when Bilbo went to get his broom, she called everyone down over to where Nori stood, staring at the benches, almost mysteriously.  
  
“Alright boys.” he started, once the team was standing all around each other. “And women. And anyone else. Today’s the first game of the season. “Wow, nothing gets past you, Nori.” Kili snickered.  
  
“Shut up. We’re playing Ravenclaw, and I know they’ve just got a new captain. ‘Name’s Noon, pretty big, pretty tough from what I know. We’ll have to be on our best game. But this is the best team I’ve seen in years. We’re gonna win for sure.”  
  
“Wonderful.” Fili said, clapping his hands together. “Now who wants to try and jinx the Quaffle?”  
  
They were not practicing for an hour, but it might have been so, as the time seemed to drag on and on. Eventually, after Bilbo felt as if he was going to fall off his broom from nerves, Madam Adoness arrived on the pitch and kicked them out to the changing rooms. As he sat within the room inside the stands, he could hear everyone arriving outside. He tried to calm himself, to think about how he would feel once he got on his broom, once he saw his friends, and in a way, it helped.  
  
Once the noise outside grew far too loud to ignore any longer, Nori lead them outside. As they stood in front of the door that would open to the pitch, Nori asked “Nervous, much?”  
  
Bilbo did not nod, nor shake his head. “I guess.” is what he said.  
  
“Ah, well, that’s fine. I think I can remember my first game.” Nori said, tapping his fingers on his broom.  
  
“What was it like?”  
  
Nori frowned. “Can’t remember much, see. I was playing Seeker, and I got hit with a Bludger about ten minutes in. Nasty Beater, that Jorr was. Next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital wing a few weeks later.”  
  
Bilbo shivered. But before he could say anything in response, the door opened, and loud cheers echoed in from the students outside. As Bilbo walked onto the pitch, he searched around for where the Gryffindors were. There was a sea of gold and reds and another of silver and blues, each cheering and jeering on both teams on the pitch, for the Ravenclaw team stood at the other end. Looking at who was on the team, he breathed a sigh of relief to not see anyone he knew. What he did see was their supposed captain, Noon, who was nearly six feet tall, and looked as though to be half-Troll.  
  
Madam Adoness stood at the centre of the pitch, waiting for the two teams. As they all clambered around her, she picked up her broom from the ground, which was a dark shade of black. “Now, this is to be a fair game, alright?” she said firmly, looking mainly at Noon, who grimaced as he mounted his broom. As Bilbo stepped onto his Nimbus, he thought he saw Ruiwen’s sewed lion head in the crowd.  
  
“Ready?” called Adoness.  
  
Bilbo steadied his shaking hands as she released the Bludgers into the air. The Snitch followed them, fluttering wings faster than Bilbo could see them, gleaming in the day sunlight, almost tauntingly. He could do it. He had done it before, and he could do it again. He felt braver.  
  
Madam Adoness blew her silver horn, and Bilbo shot up from the ground, the Quaffle tossed behind him and into the arms of Tauriel, who sped off towards the Ravenclaw hoops.  
  
“And Tauriel gets the Quaffle first for Gryffindor - what a great player, she is, and quite good-looking for an Elf-”  
  
“Glóinson!”  
  
“Sorry, Elrond. Didn’t mean that.”  
  
Bilbo looked into the stands to see one of Fili and Kili’s friends, Gimli, a small and red-haired Dwarf being closely watched by Professor Elrond. Bilbo could remember something being mentioned about someone giving commentary on the game.  
  
“…flying along, great pass to Dia Snowmount, who’s a new player this year, looks like she could knock someone out - oh, wait, Taygeta Phihoits of Ravenclaw steals the Quaffle, flying around like a bird, she is…headed for the hoops…”  
  
Bilbo spun around to see a small Ravenclaw player soaring towards where Nori was stationed in front of the three hoops. Cheers of encouragement came from both ends of the crowd, and Bilbo looked on as Phihoits threw the Quaffle forward, only to be stopped by the tail of Nori’s broom.  
  
“Saved, by Nori Glorison, Gryffindor captain!” Gimli shouted from the stands. “Quaffle goes to Tilda Bowman of Gryffindor there, dives around Noon - nice one - and she’s passing it off to Tauriel, who - oh, that must hurt, been hit in the back of the head with a Bludger, and the Quaffle drops to Kolvar of Ravenclaw, who’s now speeding around to the Gryffindor side, but he’s been stopped by a Bludger sent by Kili Durinson, now Tilda’s got the Quaffle again…”  
  
Bilbo saw a glimmer of gold down on the bottom of the pitch. With a jolt he sped off down there, not having time to see as Tilda moved closer to the Ravenclaw hoops.  
  
“…Bowman’s dodged a Bludger, shoots around Noon, hoops are just ahead - come on now, Tilda - Ravenclaw Keeper Yanmount dives - misses - Gryffindor score!”  
  
Great cheers came from the crowd, along with a few boos from the Ravenclaw supporters, and Bilbo stopped to look up, losing his lead on the Snitch. Sighing, as the Quaffle returned to Tauriel, he began to head back up to his place above everyone else.  
  
Down in the stands, Bofur, Bombur, and Ruiwen stood accompanied by Beorn, who had come to see the game from his usual watching place of his hut. They were all squeezed in at the back of the crowd, Beorn taking up most of the space. “Any sight of the Snitch, yet?” he asked, peering at Bilbo hovering above.  
  
Bofur shook his head. “No, well, Bilbo did dive for something, but it was just Fili’s lion patch.”  
  
“Do you think he knows that?” Bombur said.  
  
“Can’t tell.” Ruiwen wrung their hands nervously. “Oh, I hope he doesn’t get hurt.”  
  
But Bilbo was gliding above the game, looking on as Kili hit a Bludger towards the Ravenclaw Beater, calling out “One hundred twenty!” as he did so. Nori had reminded him to stay in his place until he was sure he’d seen the Snitch. After Tilda’s goal, his worries had left him, and he now glided with purpose, knowing what he was to do, and knowing that he could.  
  
“Ravenclaw’s in possession.” Gimli announced. “Phihoits’s got the Quaffle. She’s headed for the hoops, passes to Kolvar, don’t know what she was thinking, Kolvar’s pretty shi- sorry, professor -, anyways, Kolvar headed towards the hoops - oh wow, he’s been hit by a Bludger! Hope that broke his nose!”  
  
“Glóinson, I am warning you.” Elrond said furiously.  
  
“Sorry. Well, now Dia Snowmount’s got the Quaffle, and she avoids Phihoits barely, passes to Tauriel…”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw a flutter of wings. He shot off in search of the Snitch, ignoring Tauriel’s move with the Quaffle that Gimli had announced. But just as he started to gather speed, his broom stopped, giving a terrible lurch forward. Bilbo’s hands gripped onto it tighter than ever.  
  
The broom lurched again, sending Bilbo leaning off it’s side. His heart skipped. It was as if the broom was trying to throw him off. No one down below seemed to be noticing, as Tauriel had just scored, and a Ravenclaw Chaser had the Quaffle now. Bilbo tried to turn his broom around, but it wouldn’t move the way he wanted it to. It was becoming out of control, and now he could see Fili and Kili pointing up at him. Violent turns and swishing movements were sending Bilbo nearly flying off, and more people began to notice, Gimli still commentating on Ravenclaw’s newest goal.  
  
“You alright there, Bilbo?” Fili called up, but Bilbo could not answer - his broom had begun to spin over and over. Nearly everyone was looking at him now, and his nerves returned to him in the form of a shriek as he lost his balance, sending him swinging off the broom. He managed to grab ahold of it as some down below gasped in surprise.  
  
“…looks like the Gryffindor Seeker’s lost control of his broom.” Gimli said, he too, staring at the scene unfolding on the pitch.  
  
Beorn was looking with a face of utmost confusion. “He can’t have done that himself, only advanced magic can jinx something that badly!”  
  
Bombur was clutching onto the wood bar in front of them. “He’s going to fall!” he exclaimed.  
  
“I’ll stop it.” Bofur said, taking out his wand. Or rather, not his wand, but the one Elrond had lent him once he had sent the remains of his own to Dís. It was known to send it’s own spells back towards the sender, but the situation was dire enough to use it. He pointed it at where Bilbo was, but Ruiwen grabbed his arm.  
  
“Don’t!” they shouted. “It’s too narrow a shot. Plus, that’s not your proper wand. You could make it worse!”  
  
“I’ve only ever seen dark magic interfere like this.” Beorn said, as Bilbo’s broom up ahead swished around, Bilbo clutching on for dear life. Bombur was staring on silently, his face a look of worry.  
  
Suddenly, Bofur gasped. He pointed at a place in the stands. “Oh, no. Look.”  
  
Ruiwen followed his gaze. Over where the teachers were, nearly everyone looked terrified - except for Thranduil. Thranduil had his eyes locked on Bilbo, his mouth moving as if he was talking to him.  
  
“He’s jinxing it!” Bofur whispered. Before Ruiwen could ask anything, Bofur disappeared into the stands.  
  
“Where’s he gone?” Bombur asked, but Ruiwen did not know what Bofur was intent on. His only focus was Bilbo, who had every eye on him, and looked as though he was about to crash onto the ground. Fili and Kili were trying to pull him down, but each time they got close the broom would swerve away. It looked utterly hopeless.  
  
Bofur dashed around and across the stands to where Thranduil stood. He could see through the spaces in the stands where Bilbo was, and each time he looked out he felt a jolt of panic. Thranduil was likely still cursing the broom, in the midst of sending Bilbo to a horrible crash. When he got to the space behind the teachers, he took out his wand, hoping that it would not backfire on him. “Incendio!” he called, and the silks of Thranduil’s robes caught on fire.  
  
It only took a few seconds for him to notice this. As Bofur sped away he could hear the sound of Professor Daín attempting to stamp out the flames. He laughed, peering through the boards to see Bilbo still hanging from his broom, but the movement had stopped.  
  
When Bofur returned, he returned to hear everyone cheering. Bilbo was back on his broom. Over where the teachers were seemed to be a slight chaos. Thranduil had lost half of the bottom of his robes, and it seemed he had been scrambling to put them out. Several teachers were getting up after being knocked onto the ground, including Hilda and Oakenshield, who both looked dazed. Bombur looked up from where he had been burying his head into Beorn’s coat to see that Bilbo was off again, and the game was back on.  
  
“Small scare there from Bilbo Baggins, Gryffindor Seeker, looks like he’s back on his feet now.” Gimli continued. “But he’s really shot off this time, he looks to be in search of the Snitch…”  
  
Indeed, Bilbo had seen the Snitch, and this time he was determined to get it. His hands were still shaking from their grasp on the broom, but it had returned to normal, and he had no time to lose. The Ravenclaw Seeker had not yet noticed him, and was passing the Quaffle to Phihoits, who had scored thrice while no one was watching.  
  
As Bilbo dove onto the ground, he could see the fluttering wings of the Snitch just up ahead. His arm reached out to grab it, he could feel it near his hand…  
  
WHAM. Bilbo’s flight had been stopped by no one other but Noon, the Ravenclaw captain, and his broom spun off-course. He hit the ground with a thud, and there came a loud gasp.  
  
“Foul!” Gimli was shouting, dancing away from Elrond’s reach. “You cheat! Noon’s knocked Baggins out of the air!”  
  
Bilbo, lying on the ground, clasped his hand onto his mouth. He coughed, and out flew the Snitch, wings no longer in flight. He sat up immediately, ignoring the screams of pain in his arm.  
  
“I’ve got it!” he called. “I’ve caught the Snitch!”  
  
The crowd erupted into cheers. Noon tried to protest, but there was nothing to be done. No rules were broken, and catching the Snitch meant the game was over. Forty to one hundred and seventy was the final score, as Gimli announced, and the rest of the team came off their brooms, congratulating Bilbo and picking him up off the ground. It was over. They had won.


	15. Winter in the Castle

Nori had demanded to know what went wrong, but Bilbo couldn’t tell him. Once the adrenaline worn off, Bilbo had a very sore arm and was nearly exhausted. His Nimbus had been taken by Madam Adoness and Elrond, who wanted to check it over for jinxes. No one had ever seen anything like that happen before, according to Fili, who let him into the common room.  
  
The Gryffindors were celebrating their first win of the season, and they were holding a party inside the common room. Bilbo entered to cheers and congratulations from nearly everyone, including Bofur, who had taken Ruiwen’s lion head and was wearing it himself. But Bilbo did not have much energy left in him to celebrate. He simply wanted to go back to sleep.  
  
Unfortunately his fellow Gryffindors would not let him retire to his bed, namely, Bofur, Ruiwen, and Bombur. While Bilbo could not answer for the cause of his untimely loss of broom control, they all could.  
  
“It was Thranduil.” Bofur told him, pulling Bilbo aside from Fili and Kili, who were having a Butterbeer competition and trying to convince Tauriel to join. “I saw him, he was jinxing you!”  
  
But Bilbo was disbelieving at first. “He’s a teacher, Bofur. Do you think no one would notice if he was using a spell on me?”  
  
“Look, I know curses when I see them.” Ruiwen added in. “You can’t break your gaze, and Thranduil wasn’t blinking.”  
  
“Maybe Elves don’t blink that often.” Bilbo shrugged, to Ruiwen’s exasperated sigh.  
  
“Either way, it was Thranduil. I just know it.” Bofur said, as a shout of joy came from Fili and Kili’s competition. “I think he knows that we found the Dragon, and he wants to stop us from doing anything else about it-”  
  
“You’re sounding like Thranduil was out to kill Bilbo.” Bombur said to his brother.  
  
“He definitely might be.” Bilbo heard Bofur mutter.  
  
After a few more minutes of staying with the rest of Gryffindor house, Bilbo started up the staircase towards the boys dormitories. As he laid down, however, his mind was stuck on the thought of Thranduil jinxing his broom. He had known the potions master did not take a liking to him, but to try and injure him like that? Surely someone would have noticed, besides three first-years that had been stands away.  
  
Bilbo turned on his side to see out the window. The flags on the pitch were flapping about in the wind, and he could still hear the cheers from this morning fresh in his memory. He closed his eyes, blocking out the midday winter light, and tried to go back to sleep.  
  
There was a very short dream that Bilbo imagined that day. He did not know how long he was sleeping for, but he did remember dreaming about something odd. He, Bilbo, was lying on ice, with a grey and clouded sky around him. Upon standing himself up, he saw that it was not a singular patch of ice, but an entire frozen lake, and that there was a crack underneath his feet. Bilbo jumped back, but it only made the break bigger, and one of his toes touched the bitterly cold water. As it did, he saw a raven that held a dagger in it’s beak fly by his head, heading westward. Bilbo craned his head to look at where it was going, but at that moment, he felt the water splash up his arm, and he fell against the ice once more. Face nearly in the water, he grabbed around for a tether, something to hold onto - until he felt pain on the back of his head, and he fell forward into the water, blacking out, but he heard a voice up above shout something. If only he had heard what it was before he was awoken. 

  


The last two days of term went by quietly, many teachers letting their students off work and loosening up their lessons. In Monday Transfiguration, Elrond showed them all how he could turn his desk into a boar and back again, and did not make them go about their latest attempt at turning string into wire. A few students left over the weekend, such as the Ris had done, and when Tuesday came Bilbo slept in as the rest of the school made their way back down to the carriages in the snow.  
  
Seven students would be staying through the winter. The group that made their way downstairs for breakfast in the empty silence composed of Bilbo, Bofur, and Ruiwen from Gryffindor, a lanky Seventh-year from Hufflepuff who introduced herself as Nifu, two Slytherin twins with almost exactly matching features named Mungo and Bauto, and the last being Taraneth, Ruiwen’s friend in Ravenclaw. A few teachers were left there as well, with Beorn and Daín taking their opportunity to decorate the castle into a winter wonderland. Several evergreens were lugged up during the morning’s snowfall, and there were flakes of snow falling from the ceiling in the Great Hall. Bilbo saw very little snow in Hobbiton, so it was no wonder why he panicked upon seeing the charmed weather at breakfast, thinking that the castle had broken during the night and it had hailed instead.  
  
Nevertheless, the castle atmosphere was gorgeous, and once the students were left to their own devices, all thought of researching kings went out of Bilbo’s mind. He, Bofur, and Ruiwen showed Taraneth all the Sphinx-Charmed Portraits about the castle on the first day, and found that Elmira Elfenstone had hung a bundle of yew leaves over her frame.  
  
“It’s for the spirit of the season.” she told them when Bilbo asked. “For I always do things with a reason.”  
  
“Does she always rhyme when she speaks?” Taraneth had asked, and Bofur nodded.  
  
Since there was no one else around to catch them, they tried passing through as many portraits as possible. Taraneth was exceptionally good at riddles, and after the Prince of Marches denied them the passage between the Carvings room and the third floor, Taraneth came up with a new idea.  
  
“Why don’t I ask you a riddle?” she suggested. “If you get it wrong, we get to pass through, but if you get it right, we won’t try again.”  
  
“Fair enough.” the prince responded. They were back in the Carvings room, mainly to see if there was any hints for the hiding of the stone, but Ruiwen had taken one step inside and nearly fainted. As it turned out, there was a window just above a glass trophy case, and when the light shone through, everything sparkled and shone like a hundred suns. The addition of light also revealed secret designs on paintings. A canvas with the sketch of a single sword was revealed to be a full-scale painting of battle, and the portrait of the prince they had found had an addition of a large mountain drawn behind him.  
  
“Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. Whoever knows it, wants it not. What is such object?” the prince asked them.  
  
“It sounds like a ruse.” Taraneth said.  
  
“What do you mean?” Ruiwen asked. “How can he be tricking us?”  
  
Taraneth shook her head, ruffling her blonde hair. “The answer, Rui. It’s a ruse. A fake.”  
  
The prince sighed. “You have won, my lady. But I still advise that you do not enter this passage.” he warned, not swinging open. “There lies a terrible creature behind me, with breath like fire and scales like daggers. And power that you know not of, a great an ancient one that has been unprotected for too long.”  
  
“Why are you telling us?” Bofur asked. “If you’re going to lock, just lock.”  
  
On the third day of holidays, Beorn invited Bofur and Bilbo down to his hut again. “I need help with the Gryphons.” he had explained while Ruiwen and Taraneth had disappeared into the courtyard. “Some of them aren’t in sight anymore, and Professor Gandalf’s asked that I keep my eyes on them.” Bilbo had little clue as to why he could help with a herd of Gryphons in the forest that was really supposed to be forbidden, but, as Bofur mentioned to him, Beorn may tell them something else about who the King Under the Mountain was.  
  
The closest Bilbo had ever gotten to the Forbidden Forest before that was Beorn’s hut, but after stepping foot inside the snow-covered ground, he felt chills up his spine that he was certain had little to do with the weather. “I wouldn’t have asked if it was any later.” Beorn said to them, hauling a bucket of meat as they walked. “The forest is much more dangerous at night than in the daylight.”  
  
“These things aren’t actually dangerous, are they?” Bilbo asked, trying not to drop the bag of rope he had been given to carry.  
  
Beorn shook his head. “No need to worry at all. They wouldn’t want to eat anything at this time.”  
  
The Gryphons were nowhere to be found once they reached their supposed home in a clearing, which made Bilbo quite relieved. Beorn took it upon himself to start building traps for the creatures, laying out ropes and chunks of strangely coloured meat on the forest floor. “Are there actually Gryphons in this forest?” Bofur asked.  
  
“Of course there are.” Beorn continued to tie ropes to the trees. “Lived here ever since the migration from Rohan in the second age. Mirush Ymeri used some of them for his chariots once. They’re not overly aggressive, though the Ministry would like to say otherwise…” he grumbled.  
  
“Oh, my cousin knew Ymeri.” Bofur said, handing Beorn a small hammer. “He helped him with the Short-Snout breeding.”  
  
“Shame what happened to him.” Beorn nailed a chunk of yellowed meat onto a branch. “Seventy-seven is much too young to get incinerated.”  
  
Bilbo began to tune out as Bofur asked more questions about the Gryphons, and began to wander away. The Forbidden Forest did not seem to pose any threat or real danger, he noticed as he brushed snow off a stump. It was as quiet as the night, with no sound but the sound of his own footsteps to accompany Bilbo’s ears. He wondered if there actually was anything important in here, or if it was just an empty warning given to the students.  
  
He heard Beorn say something about goats quite loudly behind him, and he looked back, but did not see the others. Turning back around, he realized that he had gone much further away from the clearing than he thought he did. He began to trudge back, but stopped as his foot hit something sharp. Wincing, he stooped down to see what he had hit himself on, and nearly fell into the snow.  
  
A white horse lay on the ground, nearly covered entirely by the snowfall and around the same size as Beorn’s Warg. Bilbo could see a transparent icicle lying near its forehead, with a dark red liquid surrounding the eyes. Rushing to stand, he felt his hand brush across its mane, and he pulled it back immediately. The mane was not soft, but brittle and spiked, sending a jolt of pain through Bilbo’s hand. He jumped back onto his feet and dashed back the way which he’d came, clutching his wand tightly in his pained hand.  
  
“Where’ve you come from?” Beorn asked as Bilbo arrived back at the clearing. The trap was finalized, composing of diagonally-tied ropes with meat hung on trees.  
  
“There’s a horse, a dead horse.” Bilbo panted. “Just back there, I saw it.”  
  
Beorn looked confused. “There’s no horses in this forest, what are you…” His expression changed within a matter of seconds. He took out the axe from within his coat and started the way Bilbo had arrived from, Bofur following.  
  
“Here, it’s here, it’s been covered but it’s here.” Bilbo said a few minutes later, after they’d reached the same spot Bilbo had been standing just before. Beorn stooped down just as Bilbo had done, and Bilbo saw the horse’s hooves lying in the snow.  
  
Beorn ran his hand over the mane, not jerking back in surprise. His face turned pale. “Are there any more?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“Hang on, you said there aren’t any horses.” Bofur said, looking down at its face. “If it isn’t a horse, then-”  
  
“It’s a Unicorn, Bofur. There’s only so many left this near to the castle.” Beorn told him, picking up the icicle. “And now there’s one less, since this one’s dead.”  
They stood in silence for a few seconds, all looking at the Unicorn’s body. It was extremely tiny, so small Bilbo could have mistaken it for a pig. Growing up he had heard of Unicorns, the greatest beast of them all, and how their skin was supposed to shine in the daylight. But this, this thing, looked no different than a grey foal that had been abandoned in the middle of nowhere.  
  
Bofur was the one to interrupt the silence. “I didn’t actually think they existed.”  
  
“My aunt told me about them.” Bilbo said. “Their hair sells for a lot of money in Hobbiton.”  
  
“Exactly why they’re so rare.” Beorn spoke in a softer voice as he stood up from the dead Unicorn. “Last I knew of it there were only fifty in the forest. I’ve never seen one before now.”  
  
Bilbo wrapped his scarf again. “Will it attract Gryphons?”  
  
“Most probably.” Beorn answered. “We should leave.”  
  
Once they had trekked out of the Forbidden Forest and back to Beorn’s hut, Bilbo knocked his boots on the now-empty meat bucket. “We should try the library soon.” he said to Bofur, talking obviously about their need to find out who the King was, and forgetting that Beorn was still with them.  
  
“Who’s given you homework?” he asked, and Bilbo froze. “Surely you’re not that keen to get started on next term’s work.”  
  
“Oh, no, we’re just looking for whoever the King Under the Mountain was.” Bofur said casually. “Thanks for the hint, by the way, but could you help us narrow it down?”  
  
“You’re doing what?” Beorn stopped. He looked a mixture of shocked and angry. “That’s none of your business, and you know it.”  
  
Bofur brushed piled snow off of his hat. “We just want to know who discovered the Arkenstone.” Bilbo knew that if they said one thing more, Beorn would burst at them.  
  
“Either way, we should be going.” Bilbo said.  
  
“Right, yes, thank you.” Beorn grumbled, and with that he headed into his hut, Bofur and Bilbo back towards the castle.

  


They did try the library again - for three days with little luck. Very few of the editions they looked through mentioned Erebor, even less talking about the Arkenstone, and none at all saying who discovered it. Ori’s suggestion of the Restricted Section had fallen short, seeing as you needed a signed permission slip from a professor to check one out, and there would be no one willing to give them that. Bilbo did not want it to be the focus of their holiday, but the constant thought that Thranduil really was trying to steal the stone worried him into work.  
  
Three holidays were set for the upcoming week, and it looked as though Durin’s Day and the Elves’s Feast of Starlight would lie only a day after each other. The winter solstice would be just two days before Durin’s day, and that seemed to put everyone in a good mood. Bilbo wondered if they celebrated it as a gift-giving holiday, like birthdays, or if it was simply a day that everyone took off. Bofur received another letter from Dís on Saturday morning that he handed to Bilbo. “She’s mentioned you again. Addressed it to you, actually.” he informed him as Bilbo reached out for it hesitantly.  
  
‘To Bofur, again, and Bilbo Baggins.  
How are you two? It’s been snowing for what feels like ages here, but I can’t tell if it’s started at Hogwarts. I stayed for the winter a few times when I went to school there, and I always remember there being an enormous blizzard the night before Durin’s Day. I hope this letter reaches you before then, else I’d have lost my raven!  
Fili, Kili, and Bombur have been with me for a few days now. My sons tell me that Bilbo is the new Gryffindor Seeker! Congratulations to you, dear, and if I may say, I knew about your father being on the team back when he was at school (after me, of course). So sorry to hear about your ‘bucking broom’, as Bombur explained it, but I’m glad the first game went well.  
As for Bofur, there haven’t been too much excited talk about you, which I find strange and relieving. Fili does say that you managed to beat up a mountain Troll, however. While I do think that was quite irresponsible, congratulations on your victory! Óin’s repaired your wand, and I’ve sent it back with this letter. Try not to snap it again, will you?  
Bifur wrote me from Moira yesterday morning. I keep trying to give him the Hogwarts mailing address, but I think his memory isn’t as good as it used to be. He says that your Troll encounter was a great feat and something to sing about, as well that his Ridgebacks have started to fly south for the winter.  
Have a good holiday,  
Dís, wife of Vili, lady of Ered Luin.’  
  
Bofur’s sycamore-carven wand fell out of the large envelope, and the raven flew off into the morning. “Great, now I can jinx Legolas again!” he exclaimed, and Ruiwen laughed on the other side of the table, Taraneth covering her smirk.  
  
They spent the two days before winter solstice in the Gryffindor common room, Ruiwen looking up hexes and jinxes in their spell books and the boys playing Creature’s Chess. Bilbo had found an old set of pieces in a drawer, and thought they were beaten down and scratched up, they played a fair game. All the pieces had personalities and could even speak if wanted. Bilbo’s Knight, a Man on horseback, was quite cowardly, and the Elf-maiden was certainly quite aggressive. Though the pieces did mend themselves afterwards, Bilbo had worried that his Elf-maiden had smashed Bofur’s Orc and Warg to bits.  
  
The night before the solstice, Bilbo went to bed expecting there to be another normal day when he woke. He drifted off to sleep wondering if he could fly around on the pitch tomorrow. But when he did wake up, it was to the sound and sensation of himself falling off the bed. Someone laughed, and as he opened his eyes, he saw Ruiwen and Bofur sitting on the floor, each holding a small parcel.  
  
“Happy winter solstice.” Bofur said, tossing a parcel to Bilbo. “And Gamut Durin’s Day, well, early Durin’s day.” He hesitated. “And to the early Feast of Starlight, I suppose.”  
  
“Thank you.” Ruiwen said, opening their parcel. “Oronnad Mereth Nuin Giliath.”  
  
“What are these for?” Bilbo asked, dragging himself over to where the others were.  
  
“You give gifts for the solstices in summer and winter.” Ruiwen answered him. “You got a fair bit.” They motioned over to the foot of Bilbo’s bed, where a small pile of packages laid.  
  
Bilbo reached for the closest one, and began to unwrap it. “I can’t see who’d send me anything.” he said, but as he did, a pack of Every-Flavour Beans fell out of the package.  
  
“That one was mine.” Ruiwen said, opening their own pack of candy.  
  
“Thanks. You didn’t really-”  
  
But Ruiwen waved their hand, stopping Bilbo from going on. “I got this from Taraneth.” they said, showing a small wood-carven tiara. “She also says that she’s sorry if she was mean to you two before.”  
  
“That’s nice.” Bilbo thought aloud, and he picked up a very small parcel at the bottom of the pile. Inside it was an apple, along with a note. “I understood that you would be staying the whole year. Have a happy winter - From Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.’  
  
“I think I know who sent you that one.” Bofur motioned to a lumpy parcel sitting at the foot of Bilbo’s bed. “Dís always makes sweaters for winter, and mine’s always green. You don’t have to open it.”  
  
But Bilbo had already started for it the moment Bofur started talking, and now held a maroon knitted sweater in his hands, a piece of pumpkin cake also inside the parcel. “You do realize I’m going to wear this for the rest of the break, now?”  
  
Bofur laughed, and opened up a box that held a rolled-up and completed star chart from Ori. It looked like it had cost a fortune. Bilbo’s gift from Ori was a book called Quidditch Through the Ages, bound in green and silver, along with a Chocolate Frog (the wizard card was someone called Pallando the Blue).  
  
There was only one parcel left in Bilbo’s stock, and he reached to open it. It was moderately-sized, and as he opened it out fell a beautiful dark blue coat, reaching his knees and made of felt-like material. “Who’s this from?” he wondered, but as he searched in the package he found a note, written in handwriting that was unrecognizable.  
  
‘Your late mother returned this to me shortly before she died. I do not think she knew of what she had left in the pockets. Treat it with caution, and if you do use it, use it only for good.  
May you have a good winter.’  
  
There was no signature.  
  
Bilbo hesitated before looking into the pockets. What did they mean, use it only for good? Surely it wasn't anything of great power to be found in a coat pocket. But they had said his mother had given it back…and she hadn’t known of what she’d left.  
  
“Who’s it from?” Bofur asked, but Bilbo didn’t answer. Instead he reached into the left pocket of the coat, and felt his hand close over a small, circular object. Upon taking it out and opening his hand, he saw that he held a small golden ring, with engravings written around it.  
  
Bilbo dropped the coat back into the box. “It’s a ring.” he said. “From my mother.”  
  
Ruiwen looked puzzled. “But…who’s sent it to you?”  
  
Bilbo turned back to them. “I don’t know. They didn’t leave their name.” he shook his head.  
  
“It’s a nice ring.” Bofur observed, staring at it. “You should put it on.”  
  
So he should, and as the ring slid onto Bilbo’s middle finger, he felt a jolt of surprise, the same kind he had gotten from the Unicorn hair in the forest. Ruiwen gasped, and Bofur nearly fell backwards. Bilbo looked at his hand frantically, only to find that it wasn’t there. Neither was his arms, or his feet. He was invisible.  
  
Yanking the ring off, he reappeared. “What is that thing?” Bofur asked, eyes wide.  
  
“It said to treat it with caution, and use it for good only.” Bilbo answered half out-of-breath. But something had turned in his mind, something gave him an idea, and he nearly fell over again. “But I know what it might be good for.” Tonight, he would be sneaking into the Restricted Section. 

  


If he had thought that the start-of-term feast was magnificent enough, then Bilbo had greatly underestimated the feast of the winter solstice. The teachers had incorporated all three holidays into one, as shown in the decorations of the Great Hall. In the ceiling above was a perfectly cloudless sky, with thousands of bright stars twinkling down and shooting across the sky. The candles rained snowflakes across the hall, with nearly twenty evergreens decorated with white and coloured flowers.  
  
And the feast, oh, the feast, it was one that even the richest Hobbits would never dream of holding once in all their ages. There were turkeys and fish, cakes and pastries, candied nuts and fruits with juice, potatoes cooked seven ways and oh-so-many sauces and herbs. After starting on his fourth leg of turkey, Bilbo began to understand how all the well-off Hobbits he’d seen had grown so fat. The professors at the high table drank aged meads and ale, with Beorn and Radagast engaging in a contest that ended only after Radagast fell over, drunkenly sleeping, onto his plateful of yams.  
  
Overall, the atmosphere was joyous. Bilbo wore Dís’s sweater, much to Bofur’s protests, but Bilbo loved the feeling of wearing something that had been made for him through care. Ruiwen wore their wood tiara to dinner, showing off to the Slytherin twins, who had teased them before for being ‘ungraceful’ and ‘ugly’. Ruiwen’s bat bogey hex had worked perfectly the other day, but Bilbo assumed they were going for salt in the wound. Taraneth picked out and named the constellations in the sky to Bofur, who was hiding his impressment through large drinks of pumpkin juice and a Hufflepuff girl, who looked as if she was about to drift off. Professors Elrond and Gandalf were having a loud recollection about a journey they had shared together, occasionally sending sparks of orange light into the air when they reached an exciting part. The only person who did not seemed to be enjoying themselves was the Divination teacher, a tall and odd-looking man who draped himself in multiple white robes, and was currently forcing himself to stay sitting at the high table.  
  
“No, I most certainly will not move.” he had protested when Professor Daín asked him to get up and pass him a container of coriander. “Can’t you see how many of us are here? When thirteen sit together, the first to rise shall be the first to die.”  
  
Once the feast was finished, and Bilbo had nearly stuffed himself to the brim, they returned to the common room, no one keeping track of which professor had stood first, though Bofur had said to Bilbo that he hoped it was Hilda. The both of them tried teaching Ruiwen how to play Creature’s Chess, but they were not much better than Bilbo was, and his Knight ended up running and hiding underneath the bookshelf in fear once Ruiwen had asked it to move towards the Elf-maiden. The snow kept falling outside, more and more covering the window glass every minute, until they all tired out, and headed up the staircase to their dormitory room.  
  
Bilbo waited until he could hear the other’s snores, then reaching into his bag and taking out the small golden ring. The mystery still bothered him - who had his mother given the coat to, and why did they want Bilbo to be cautious with it - but it might have just been the answer to all his worries. In the dark of the night, he slipped it on again, and went invisible once more. If there really was any need to look inside the Restricted Section for anything, if the Arkenstone was really that important, then Bilbo knew what to do. Another time, he would explore the castle, find hidden rooms and long-lost artefacts known to no one, but for now, and he hated admitting it, he had research to do.  
  
Sneaking through the door and out into the common room, Bilbo was quiet as he possibly could be. Though his oversized feet kept hitting table legs, they made minimal noise, and even the warrior portrait had fallen into her slumber, making the adventure all the more easy. It was a strange feeling that Bilbo had, knowing that he could not be seen by anyone and now walked as a ghost did, as well as the strange effects the ring itself seemed to be having on his balance. Perhaps the power was the force sending him toppling into walls or nearly tripping down stairs, but he managed to sneak all the way down to the library without waking the castle.  
  
“Alohomora.” he whispered to the library doors, and they clicked open with a groan. While the stairwell had been dimly lit, the library was pitch-black, and it gave Bilbo an uneasy feeling about every corner. Taking his time, he walked towards the gates of the Restricted Section, which were locked as well, and as he entered he braced himself for the worst.  
  
But there was no monster, or bell, not even eerie settings to what he saw in the Restricted Section. Bilbo had to rub his eyes and look again before realizing that there were only books and inkwells there. “Well, now I’ve got no excuse to go back.” he thought, and began to look for a title.  
  
What made the books in the Restricted Section so strange was their content, rather than their placing. In a copy called “Fateful Reigns”, Bilbo found the description of a Lord of Moira’s gruesome murder in full detail, and in “Khuzdul Legends of Kings”, there was an unfortunate myth of a king who had shrunk himself down to the size of a mouse, and was unable to save himself from being cut up by the groundskeeper. Bilbo quickly shut those and reached for a copy of “Curse’ed Claimes” when it fell off the shelf, opening with a high-pitched screaming erupting from the pages.  
  
Bilbo froze immediately. The book continued to scream, and instead of closing it he ran, leaving the doors unlocked in his wake. He would be caught, caught and expelled, the ring taken back and his research left undone. This was all he thought as he dashed through the halls, the book’s wails still echoing behind him, and as he pounded down a stone hall he saw a lantern being lit in the doorway opposite.  
  
Radagast stepped out from the archway, his face red and swelled. “Who’s there?” he called, Bilbo pressing himself tight as he could to the wall. Radagast began to amble out of the archway, his feet dragging behind him, Bilbo slowing his breaths. Once Radagast had stumbled out of sight, muttering “Ridiculous charms” as he disappeared, Bilbo took a deep breath. Beginning to relax, he clicked open the lock on a small and stone carven door that looked as if it had emerged from the wall, and ducked inside.  
  
Once his heart rate had returned to normal, Bilbo stared around the room, hoping to find an exit somewhere. But what he saw was not a regular castle room, instead, he was faced with not a beast, but a dark, dark space, lit by floating specks and luminous bluebells on vines. The ceiling was nowhere in sight, and Bilbo could see the stars, but this time they were really there, and not just a conjuring.  
  
But what really mesmerized Bilbo, what drew him to take a step forward into this unknown and magical room, was what was covered by a cloth in the centre. It stood in between two large and silver mirrors, and it seemed to be glowing as Bilbo stepped closer in the silence. He thought he could hear a whisper, and he took off the ring, placing it in his pocket as he put his hands on the side of the cloth, and in one second, pulling it off with great force. And there stood a carven basin, with clear water inside, reflecting nothing but Bilbo’s mesmerized face.


	16. Seen and Unseen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Just wanted to let you know that since it's finals this week and next for me, I might stall a little on the next chapter. It's just that I'm busy with school and whatnot. Thanks for reading anyway.

The water rippled as Bilbo hovered his hand over the silver basin. The reflection that was cast back looked pure, much too clear to be a true one. There was something special about the way the water shone, almost tinted blue, so much so that Bilbo could not pull himself away from looking into it. There was nothing looking back at him, yet he felt as if there were a million eyes staring up through the liquid.  
  
A whisper came from out of nowhere. “Stand,” it said, in a light, yet demanding tone. “Stand and see.”  
  
Bilbo forced himself to raise up his head, putting his eyesight onto the silver mirror in front of him. He was still alone, but there seemed to be shadows behind him. Turning slowly on his heels, Bilbo faced the separate mirror, and saw figures behind him.  
  
They were standing in the background, as if they were metres away. Quickly, Bilbo looked over his shoulder to see who had arrived, but there was no one behind him. Only the basin stood, now emitting a translucent blue smoke from itself. But if there was no one behind him, that must have meant…  
  
More and more beings were appearing in the mirror as Bilbo watched. All of them were Hobbits, with round faces and large feet, wearing overcoats and suspenders, some with pocket watches in hand. A few were talking with each other, laughing in the reflection, yet the room stayed as silent as the night. As Bilbo caught the face of a passing Hobbit, he found an alarming conclusion: they all had his family features. The women were short and plump, with dark hair like Lobelia had. The boys were light-haired and had the same face-shape as Bilbo did. “These must be my ancestors.” he thought, watching them all go by, lingering in the background of the mirror.  
  
But as Bilbo turned once more to see into the basin, he heard the voice again. “Do not touch the water.” it warned sharply, and Bilbo stepped back immediately. “You carry a dark power with you. Look at the surfaces instead.”  
  
And as he did, he saw two more Hobbits, closer than any other. A woman and a man stood just behind Bilbo’s shoulders, only a foot taller than he was. The woman had curls in her hair, and was smiling along with the man, who had a musty shade of blonde hair, and wore a pocketcoat. Bilbo did not dare to turn around. The figures looked so real, so familiar, and yet, so mesmerizing.  
  
The woman’s red dress seemed to shine in the silver light. Everything about her was so very colourful, from her dress to her eyes… “Green eyes.” Bilbo thought. “They look so much like mine.”  
  
She seemed to nod as he thought this. And staring into the mirror, at himself and the figures behind him, he felt so tugged, so pulled to the similarities between them all, until he understood.  
  
Bilbo’s hand reached out and touched the cold glass. “Mum?” he asked it, and the lady nodded. “Dad?” he asked, and the man chuckled, a sound that made Bilbo remember something from much too long ago. He saw a silver tear on his father’s face, laughing, yet crying still.  
  
Bilbo stood there for longer than he had ever been in one place. For the first time in his life, he was gazing upon his family, aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents. He had both his hands on the cold mirror glass, and was staring up at his parents, who looked so happy yet so sad. Everything was so bittersweet. Bilbo wished he could fall through the glass, turn around and see them all there, but he knew that if he looked at the other side, there would be no one there.  
  
The basin still shimmered, and the voice no longer spoke to Bilbo. Only the distant sound of Radagast returning to his chamber brought Bilbo out of his trance.  
  
“I have to come back.” he thought, taking the gold ring out of his pocket and slipping it on his finger. He thought he saw his mother wave him goodbye as he turned around to leave. The blue smoke of the basin had faded, and Bilbo remembered that he was not to touch the water. The voice had warned him about carrying a dark power with him…perhaps they meant the power of the ring? There had been multiple warnings about how to use it by now.  
  
Slipping through the corridors and back towards the common room, he awoke the warrior portrait to let him inside, although she was very miffed to have to do so. Bilbo laid in his bed for the remaining hours of the night, turning to early morning, and letting the frosty air slide through an open window, waking him up fully. He could not think of anything else but the room, the room filled with vines and bluebells, swallowing up every bit of empty space in the darkness it held, and the two mirrors surrounding the silver basin. Who had put it there? Did anyone else know about this room? The questions agitated Bilbo. If anyone else knew that it was there, then he didn’t have it to himself. Someone could steal the sight of his family away from him, take away one of the small hopes he had.  
  
All he wanted was to be back there, see his parent’s faces again. He had never known them, and yet, they meant so much to him. It pained him to see how young they were in the reflection, his mother not even a full foot taller than Bilbo was. She had been smiling, looking so joyed that he was there. To leave them alone would be the worst thing Bilbo would ever do. He had to return, tonight. He had to tell someone about it, show them that he could see his family now, but it had to someone he trusted. Someone who wouldn’t run to Professor Gandalf, and who would actually want to be there.  
  
The answer came to Bilbo at breakfast the next morning, when he began knocking around his plate of leftover turkey. “How’d the Restricted Section go?” Bofur asked him, making sure to not let Ruiwen hear their converse.  
  
“I couldn’t find anything. One of the books was acting up.” Bilbo said.  
  
Bofur simply shrugged. “Shame. Well, you can try again tomorrow, can’t you?”  
  
“I found something more important than books, Bofur.”  
  
The Dwarf stopped eating. “What d’you mean?”  
  
Bilbo leaned closer and spoke very softly, so that only Bofur could hear him. “There’s a secret room in the castle with a mirror. Two of them. And there’s this beautiful basin, lit by bluebell lights and-”  
  
“You’re joking with me.” Bofur interrupted. “What do you really mean?”  
  
“I really mean it.” Bilbo said. “It showed me my parents. All my family.”  
  
“Where was it?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t remember. I just fell in through the door, I suppose. But I was running from the library, and I needed a place to hide from Radagast-”  
  
“Go back, wait, why were you running?”  
  
Bilbo sighed. “Stop interrupting me.” Bofur shrugged. “I dropped a book in the Restricted Section, which must have been jinxed so that it would shriek at anyone. So I ran, and somehow I got to where Radagast was, and I still had the ring on me so he couldn’t see. But the door was just there, and it didn’t even look like it belonged in the castle.” Bilbo could see the scenery clearly in his memory, the clouded night sky, the charm of a never ending-ceiling. “Like a lost magic.”  
  
The description seemed to have sparked Bofur’s interest, because he stopped whispering his questions. “What happened there?” he asked, staring at Bilbo’s face intently.  
  
“There was a basin.” Bilbo began with. “Surrounded by two mirrors. And when I looked into the water, someone whispered to me. It sounded like a lady, some sort of ghost woman. It - she- she told me to look into the mirrors, and when I did, I saw my family.”  
  
“How could you tell?” Bofur asked him, not noticing Ruiwen getting up to go to the grounds with Taraneth.  
  
Bilbo wracked his mind for the moment he realized they were his family, but he couldn’t think of anything. Except seeing every Hobbit in the mirror and seeing their green eyes and light hair, there was no certain realization. “I just…I just knew. Something told me it was my mum and dad, and I think the room does that for everyone. Shows them their own kind, everyone in their line. They just filled up the room, it was like they were there, and my mother…” He paused. He could see the Hobbit lady in a red dress, with her tear-stained smile, just a step behind him. “She was happy. It was just like she was alive.”  
  
Bofur did not speak for a minute or so after Bilbo finished. Bilbo wanted him to believe him. If only one person knew about the room, he wanted it to be his friend. It didn’t matter if he cared, he only wanted him to know that there was lost magic in the castle.  
  
Then, Bofur broke his own silence, putting down his fork of breakfast meat. “Take me there.” 

  


As they found out on the very same day, the golden ring’s power could work on two. All Bilbo had to do was wear the ring, grab ahold of an object, and it too would become transparent to the world. Nothing else had been on Bilbo’s mind for the day than the room. Taraneth had convinced all the students into a snowball fight out on the grounds, and while it had allowed for a time where the Slytherin twins could pummel each other with snow, it also allowed for Bilbo’s thoughts to wander back to the basin.  
  
What had the voice meant about him carrying a dark power? This was the second warning he thought was related to the ring. If it was any other situation, Bilbo was sure he’d have given the thing up to Professor Gandalf. But there was no other way he could reach the secret room. Term would restart within a few days, and there would be no time for him to go in the day. At night, he could sneak out unseen, and stay for as long as he liked with his parents. Now that Bofur wanted to see the room, his time might have to be divided, but as long as he could still see them, nothing could stop his mind from wandering there, while his body stayed very much in place.  
  
As night fell and the common room fell asleep, Bilbo slipped on the ring once more. Bofur was nervously sitting at the edge of his bed, dressed in what must have been two layers extra of bedclothes.  
  
“It doesn’t hurt at all. It just feels like putting on socks, and then you just become invisible.” Bilbo explained as he grabbed ahold of Bofur’s right hand, watching as he, too, disappeared. “You can still see, right?”  
  
“Everything but myself.” came the response from a seemingly empty space.  
  
The two headed out down the stairwell again, walking at such a slow pace Bilbo thought they would never get there. Bofur kept tripping over his own boots, and Bilbo missed the trick stair, slowing them down even further. Bilbo was trying to recall exactly where the door was. He remembered the floor being made of grey stone, and there being an archway right in front of the door, but everything else was a blur.  
  
“Do you feel dizzy at all?” Bofur asked once they had arrived in front of the library. “I think you can let go, there’s no one down here.”  
  
Bilbo dropped his hand, and Bofur reappeared at once. He rubbed at his eyes a few times before looking at their surroundings and squinting. “That was strange.”  
  
“We’re not there.” Bilbo said, taking off the ring and seeing his feet come back into view. “It was down this way…follow me.”  
  
“Have been for a while, now.” Bofur added, but did so anyways.  
  
The archway came into view a few minutes later, but as Bilbo looked at the wall opposite, there was no door present. “It was here!” he exclaimed, tapping the stone wall.  
  
“Maybe it was in another hallway.” Bofur suggested, but Bilbo knew he was right. The door had been here only a day ago, how was it not here now?  
  
“I swear…” he mumbled, and turned back to the archway. “It’s not like it was invisible.”  
  
“Maybe it was.” Bofur said, and at first Bilbo thought he was ridiculous, but as he saw Bofur tapping his hands on the stone, he remembered something from a History of Magic lesson he was lucky to not have fallen asleep in.  
  
But he needed not to say anything, because at that moment, a sudden need sprung in his head, and he nearly said it aloud. “I need to find the place where they are.” As he thought it, the lines of a doorway began to form on the wall. Bofur jumped back.  
  
“What’d you do?”  
  
The door hadn’t been the concept Bilbo was thinking of, but whatever he had done had worked, and they had no time to ponder on it. “In here.” Bilbo pushed forward, Bofur following, both stopping as the wondrous sight of the enchantments came into sight. The room was exactly as he had left it last night. Bilbo left Bofur to marvel in the stars while he made his way through to the basin.  
  
Nothing appeared in the mirror as he stood in front of the glass. The voice did not speak to him as he looked into the water. Worried that something had changed, Bilbo reached to touch the water, but an invisible force held him back. “The looking glass.” the woman’s voice said at once. “You will find them there.”  
  
His mother and father stood behind Bilbo again, his father smiling as he saw him. “Bofur, come see! They’re here!” Bilbo called out.  
  
Bofur wandered over, and stared into the second mirror. “I just see me and you.”  
  
Bilbo broke his gaze with the mirror. “No, no, you need to see the basin first.” He pointed it out, as if it’s placement wasn’t obvious enough.  
  
As Bofur did so, he jerked his head back quickly as he had put it down. “Who else is here?” he asked frantically.  
  
“What’d she tell you?”  
  
But Bofur wasn’t answering him. Instead, he was looking into the mirror opposite.  
  
“Do you see your family?” Bilbo rushed up to where he stood. But Bofur shook his head, not with sorrow, but with confusion.  
  
“It’s just me, but…I’m older. And taller.” he observed, staring more intently at the glass. “And…those aren’t my school robes…I’ve got armour!” he exclaimed.  
  
“What?”  
  
“This can’t be me, Bilbo, I’m wearing something royal.” Bofur continued, his expression growing more and more impressed by the second. “There’s a sword for some reason in my hand, and I’ve got so many braids…” He gasped. “I’m a fighter!”  
  
“A what?” Bilbo asked, still only seeing a regular Bofur reflected in the mirror.  
  
“Bifur used to look like this.” Bofur said, running his hands over his hair. “The ones who fought in Azanulbizar wore this armour, the bravest ones…I must be rich!” he said, a laugh underneath his words. “I can see you, too. You’ve got a coat from Moira on…d’you think I’m there?”  
  
“I can’t see it.” Bilbo told him.  
  
Bofur turned away for a second. “Bilbo, you must’ve been wrong. This must show the future!”  
  
Bilbo’s heart sank. “How can it? My parents are dead.”  
  
“Oh.” Bofur stopped. “Maybe it’s showing what you want the future to look like.”  
  
“Maybe.” Bilbo said quietly.  
  
Both boys were looking at the mirrors for what felt like the rest of the night. Apparently Bofur’s future would involve him being rich and brave, meant to be remembered greatly, but Bilbo’s couldn’t possibly involve his parents. No matter how much his mother smiled, and how much his father laughed, Bilbo knew that the mirror must be lying to him. Whatever the mirror’s true meaning was, he still felt hope in seeing them there, reflected in front of him, as if they’d never died.

  


The break ended soon after, and everyone returned to Hogwarts bearing news of their celebrations and festivities. Bilbo hadn’t gotten anything about the King Under the Mountain, and was not looking forward to telling Ori this.  
  
Fili, Kili, and Bombur returned, each wearing a handmade sweater with their first initial on it. Fili kept pestering Bofur for stories of the teacher’s ‘secret lives at Hogwarts’ he’d supposedly found all about, and Kili kept saying how he was sure Tauriel had flirted with him on the way back to school, even though his brother insisted she was simply asking for him to hand her bag over.  
  
As for the secret room and its mirrors, both boys had sworn to not say anything about it to anyone else. They’d tried to figure out what each’s reflection meant with little luck; Bofur’s was much too complicated, and Bilbo’s being unrealistic. Bilbo had been back nearly every night, just to sit there, see his parents silently. Their simple presence made him happy, made him forget that his supposed future had nothing of the humble greatness shown to his friend, instead involving those long-dead.  
  
Ori had returned with good news, however. Dragging Bofur and Bilbo to the library within an hour of his return, he set down a large and old book on the desk with a thud. “Dori had this in his bag for Ancient Runes.” he sighed, opening it with a cloud of dust. “I borrowed it for some light reading.”  
  
“Light?” Bofur asked in dubiety.  
  
“I’ve found the King Under the Mountain.” Ori ignored him, flipping to a golden-rimmed page.  
  
“You have?” Bilbo leaned over the desk to read the page.  
  
‘Most magnificent of them all, the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain, found by chance and becoming the most valued object in Dwarven history. While under the rule of King Thrór, son of Daín the First, the stone was mined deep down in the Lonely Mountain of Erebor, a great gleaming gem of power that gave its strength to its holder.’  
  
“Ori, you’re the best person I know.” Bofur said, reading over the page.  
  
Ori nearly blushed. “Oh, thank you.” he said quietly.  
“Thrór, son of Daín the first.” Bilbo mumbled, still reading the page until his eye came across something of most interest. “Wait, have you read everything here?”  
  
Ori nodded, his tone returning from its complementation. “Have you gotten to the curse part?”  
  
Indeed, he had. The book read that ‘whoever holds the Arkenstone shall be given a blessing and a curse, that it will make the people great but drive the king mad’. “What do they mean, drive him mad?”  
  
“That’s what I was afraid of finding.” Ori sat down. “Apparently the Arkenstone is something like a cursed object. There’s only a few left in the world, and they’re usually very old, and very rare. I looked into it, and there was this story.” He reached into his bag, retrieving and unfolding a very fine piece of aged parchment. On it was written a long tale in Khuzdul, words that Bilbo could not translate himself, but no need, for Ori was already summarizing it aloud.  
  
“You must remember, it’s very old, very long, and I could only translate what I know,” he began, as Bilbo and Bofur craned their necks to look at the sheet. “but it says that ‘the Arkenstone, of mighty old, atop the carven throne sat in elegance in beauty, but beneath it unleashed its power’.”  
  
“I still don’t understand.” Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“I think the stone made him go mad with its power.” Bofur tried. “Or maybe gave…wait, that actually works, then. I think I’ve got it.”  
  
Ori picked up the sheet, which had been of little help. “Go on?”  
  
“The Arkenstone is a cursed object, right?” Bofur said to both Ori and Bilbo, who were thinking of backup solutions to their problem. “And both the books say that the king was mad? Well, since most Dwarves know it existed, it’s well-known, made the Ereboreans well-known, and gave them their money. But, but, since it had that much power, it took away something from the king, and made him go mad using it.”  
  
“Bofur, that’s…” Ori said once Bofur had finished his conclusion. “…actually brilliant.”  
  
“Surprised, are you?” Bofur smirked.  
  
“But it still doesn’t explain why it’s at the school.” Bilbo chimed in. “If it was dangerous, but valuable, someone must’ve stolen it.”  
  
“Yes, that did happen, but no one knows who stole it, only that once it was gone, Erebor fell.” Ori said to him. “So whoever took it gave it back-”  
  
“And gave it to the school, or had it stolen from them.” Bofur finished the collective thought.  
  
Bilbo could not believe it. He had been caught up in so much trouble, so many things that he shouldn’t be caught up in at all, first this, then the mirror in the secret room. He was starting to feel abnormality become the norm. It did not please him overly, but it was surely much more than he’d bargained for back in the summer.  
  
“And someone’s trying to steal it again.” Bilbo added, thinking back to his suspicions on Professor Thranduil.  
  
Ori did not nod, but simply put the book back into his bag. “If you two are right, then we need to tell Gandalf.”  
  
“Are you mad?” Bofur stood from the desk. “He won’t listen to us.”  
  
“Of course he won’t, which is why we’ll need proof.” Bilbo said. “Listen, I want to talk to Beorn again-”  
  
“And I can promise you, he won’t say a word.” Ori obviously thought Beorn would have learned from his slips-of-the-tongue by now. “Our best chance is to ask Professor Gandalf himself.”  
  
“ ‘Us’? Why not just me?”  
  
Ori slung the bag over his shoulder. “Because no one’s mad enough but us to accuse a teacher to the headmaster, keep pressing a Metamorphmagus for information on a powerful and corrupting stone that we aren’t even supposed to know exists, and expect it all to turn out fine and dandy.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I guess that just depends on luck. Now, I want to see what you got for winter gifts. And we should really be getting to lunch.”


	17. Beorn's Fantastic Beast

Once lessons returned, all the free time Bilbo had become accustomed to faded within the blink of an eye. The students were all to be examined at the end of the year on all their subjects, and then teachers seemed keen to remind everyone of this. The relaxed attitude of some professors hardened within the first week back, free periods switching to quickly sprung quizzes, and what was once a night of homework lengthening into a full week.  
  
As it was expected, the worst load came from Potions. Thranduil kept assigning foot-long essays for the next day, much to Bilbo’s dislike. The next Quidditch match of the season was coming up, the game against Slytherin, and what with the amount of homework Bilbo was being assigned, he had been considering asking to be replaced. Of course, that was only a desperate measure. Bilbo knew that he would much rather be up in the air than kept up in the library all day.  
  
The weather outside of the castle was still cold as ever, but as January began to settle in, the sunlight started to shine onto the grounds weakly once more. According to Godelina, winter only lasted until late February in their part of Middle-Earth, which Bilbo was most pleased with, since he had only thought to bring one winter coat with him to Hogwarts. There had been no more treks out into the forest with Beorn, meaning no one had found any other Unicorn bodies in the snow, but Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori had been keeping in touch with him. It was in their best interest to not ask anything else about the Arkenstone. Any questions would have to wait for Professor Gandalf.  
  
Bilbo had decided that yes, he was going to actually ask the headmaster about the Arkenstone. As Ori had said, only the three of them would be that mad to consider it a possibility, but apparently it was only Bilbo who was far enough gone to really do it. The plan was to avoid saying anything outright (“Just say you’re preparing for one of Angmar’s essays.” Bofur had advised), keep calm, and don’t accuse anyone of anything. Bilbo really had no idea what to expect of Gandalf, except for him to be extremely protective of any information regarding the Arkenstone. He only hoped that on Friday, the night he would be going up the the headmaster’s office, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.  
  
After school on Monday, Bilbo found himself playing a one-sided game of Creature’s Chess in the common room. The place was nearly empty, save a few fifth-years quizzing each other on the properties of Moonstone. Ori and Bofur were both in the library working on Hilda’s newest essay, and Bilbo thought he’d seen Aldreda and Godelina rush off into the hall just after their last class. As Bilbo moved one of the Orcs forward, only to be pushed aside by a Elf-maiden, he thought again of the secret room that contained the three mirrors.  
  
He’d had so little time since term returned that he hadn’t been able to go back and see his parents. In truth, all the warnings about him having a dangerously powerful object with him was beginning to frighten Bilbo. When there had already been warnings about the peril that came with looking for the Arkenstone, any talk of more danger would put Bilbo off. All that time he’d spent sitting in front of the mirror had been distracting him from the true problems, anyways. But he still felt that pull to go back, to see his parents that he’d never known again.  
  
As one of his Goblins fell to an Orc, the portrait-hole door swung open, and in came Fili and Kili, each clutching their own stock of brightly-painted fireworks. The third years had been on their trip down to Dale, the magically populated town just below the school, yesterday, and the Durin brothers had been talking about a ‘project’ they wished to work on.  
  
“Oh, hi Bilbo.” Kili said, placing the fireworks down on a maroon armchair. “What’d we miss?”  
  
Bilbo moved his Elf-maiden in front of an Orc. With a swish of a sword, the Orc fell off it’s Warg, smashing into pieces. “Nothing.” he answered shortly.  
  
“You do realize you’ve got no opponent, right?” Fili asked him, speaking of Bilbo’s chess game.  
  
Bilbo nodded, as the Dwarf-king on the other side moved to avoid his Elf. “I haven’t got anything else to do.”  
  
“Here, let me play you.” Kili came over to the small cushion Bilbo had set up the pieces on. “We were just getting supplies for our project.”  
  
“No Fire Fireworks.” Fili waved a blue cracker at Bilbo. “Got the idea from Gimli Glóinson.”  
  
“Yeah, he sent us some over the winter.” Kili shook the board, and all the broken pieces mended themselves with a few groans and cracks. “We want to set them off on his birthday.”  
  
“That’s thoughtful.” Bilbo said. His mind was taking in very little of the boys’s information. All he wanted to be doing was sitting in front of the mirror, having all his questions answered by Professor Gandalf. But it was at the end of the week on which he’d be doing any of that.  
  
Kili reset up the pieces, and pushed a Goblin forwards. “Where’s your friends?”  
  
Bilbo motioned to the door. “Library.” he muttered, picking up a Hobbit piece and moving it diagonally across. “Hilda’s given us two pages on the effects of sunlight.”  
  
“I don’t like Herbology.” Kili muttered. His Man piece protested, but moved to stand in front of Bilbo’s Goblin. Bilbo couldn’t help feeling that he was imposing on the boys free time, simply by being bored.  
  
The Goblin was knocked down as the Man’s horse reared up. “At least you’re not taking Care of Creatures.” Fili said from the armchair he’d settled into. “Beorn’s given us another Skinchanger project.”  
  
“Beorn teaches?” Bilbo asked, surprised that Beorn had said nothing about having his own class.  
  
Kili nodded. “He shares with Professor Hilda. They couldn’t find anyone else to teach after last year. The teacher got chased into the woods by the Eagles.”  
  
Bilbo’s Hobbit piece fell to Kili’s Man piece, with a swish of a sword. The piece’s wooden head rolled off the board, and Bilbo squeezed the edge of the table. “Sounds horrible.”  
  
“Not as bad a post as Defence Against the Dark Arts, then.” Kili moved his Elf piece to stand a few spaces away from Bilbo’s Orc. “It’s probably cursed.”  
  
“Yes, the last few teachers haven’t gone well either.” Fili added, toying around with a red firecracker.  
  
Bilbo tried to push the fact to the side of his mind. The last thing he wanted to worry about was another dangerous mystery.  
  
“The next Quidditch game is soon, right?” Bilbo switched the subject.  
  
“Against Slytherin.” Kili said, nodding. His Elf piece turned to face Bilbo’s Orc once more. “You excited? You did pretty well last time.”  
  
A smile crept across Bilbo’s face. Quidditch was one of the only constants he could have. No matter if there was a Dragon or a secret mirror, he would always enjoy flying around on the pitch. It was something he was proudest of.  
  
“Shame Thranduil’s refereeing, though.” Kili added.  
  
A swish of a thin sword, and the Orc was cut in half instantly. Bilbo was jerked from his peaceful thoughts of Quidditch by the thought of Professor Thranduil being in charge of the game. “What?” he exclaimed.  
  
“I know, I had the same reaction.” Kili said. “Can’t believe Adoness let him.”  
  
“He’ll make us lose!”  
  
As Bilbo said this, the common room door swung open again. “Alright, fine, you can go in, but don’t blab that password around to any of your little friends.” the warrior portrait grumbled as Ori and Bofur returned from the library, holding two pages each of inked parchment that must’ve been Hilda’s essay.  
  
“Bofur, I think you need to spend more time on Creature’s Chess with Bilbo here.” Kili said, rising from his chair. Bilbo shook the board, and watched as the broken pieces began to mend themselves back together. He wondered on how fascinating it would be if fallen warriors could do the same, simply get up from their last resting place, and stick themselves back on. Maybe there was a spell for that.  
  
“Have you finished your homework?” Ori asked Bilbo, Fili and Kili taking their fireworks and heading up to their dormitory. “I won’t let you copy off mine.”  
  
“I will.” Bofur said, sitting on the arm of the couch as he gave his essay over to Bilbo. “Look it over?”  
  
“Sure.” Bilbo said, and went to go and find his bag. But the thought of Thranduil refereeing the Quidditch match was still bothering him. Surely he hadn’t taken the post last minute to make sure Gryffindor loses? It was unfair, certainly, everyone knew of how much the Ravenclaws rivalled Gryffindor already. But they had already went head-to-head, so really, there was no need for Ravenclaw to be involved in any other match against Gryffindor. Bilbo was sure the rest of the team was fuming. He’d ask Nori about it all tomorrow morning. This was sure to be an outrage!

  


There was an outrage. The rest of the team had known about Thranduil’s newest post since Friday, and only Kili had bothered to tell Bilbo. Bilbo could say that this did make him miffed, but he’d had enough to worry about already. Nori was the most furious of all. He’d tried asking Professor Adoness to kick him out, but she’d said Thranduil had a ‘very legitimate excuse’.  
  
“Excuse, my eye.” Nori grumbled to anyone who’d hear him. “He probably just wants to favour the team with the least Dwarves on it.”  
  
Bilbo did not finish his Herbology essay last night. Despite having looked over Bofur’s, and copied most of it, he had understood very little about the effects of sunlight on Venomous Tentacula. In past experience, Professor Hilda had been quick to realize when Bilbo had rushed through work, not understanding a lick, and so he’d made a note to ask Ori about it in the morning.  
  
What he’d forgotten was that Ori wasn’t a Gryffindor, and was sleeping in the Hufflepuff common room. Now, Bilbo was sitting on the frozen-over bench down on the Quidditch pitch, trying to hurriedly finish a sentence on how Venomous Tentacula were bred in darkness. His ink pot had nearly frozen, and he had barely written another word when Tauriel came over to the bench.  
  
“You’re going to ruin that paper.” she warned. “And are you going to play this morning?”  
  
“J-just a second.” Bilbo’s teeth chattered. He hadn’t had an enjoyable sleep. Thoughts of his many different worries were keeping him up through the early hours of the day now. Bilbo felt quite stupid when he remembered how he’d kept saying to Ori and Bofur that the two of them should stay out of the stone business, when he really should’ve been telling that to himself.  
  
The freshly fallen snow made playing even harder than it was last time, but they managed anyway. Tauriel was wearing four layers of coats, which made it much more difficult for her to catch the Quaffle without losing a scarf. The Bludgers had accumulated some ice and snow packed around them, and were now like large chunks of hail as they were hit around the pitch. The upside was that Bilbo could see the Snitch better, seeing as its golden colour reflected off the bright white snow down below. He caught it within a ten minutes of the game, the next round taking a little longer, since he mistook Dia’s glove for it and nearly knocked her off.  
  
“Ridiculous eyesight.” she’d muttered as Bilbo apologized profusely. “Both of us. I can barely see the Quaffle without glasses!”  
  
The rest of practice went about as well as a Hobbit trying to stay thin. Kili nearly knocked an ice Bludger into Tauriel’s head (and that was just the first person he did it to), Tilda accidentally scored on her own net twice, and halfway through, Bilbo got into a snowball fight with Fili and Dia, which eventually resulted in everyone ditching the scrimmage to throw chunks of snow at each other.  
  
“We have to be on our best next week.” Nori said, once they were all out of the cold. “Really. We can’t just throw snowballs at Thranduil. If only, though.”  
  
“Don’t give him a reason to punish you.” Tauriel added. “Nori’s right, he probably wants to favour the team with the most non-Dwarves on it.”  
  
After Bilbo had packed away his Quidditch robes and began up the frozen steps to the castle, holding up the hemline of his school robes, he realized he’d forgotten his essay. Half-finished or not, he had to give it to Hilda, and so Bilbo began to walk back down to the pitch. Everyone else had already gone to the castle, and he was alone in the snow.  
  
Or, at least he thought he was.  
  
As Bilbo searched around the tent for his essay, a figure was hiding behind the same tent. Slowly, as Bilbo moved around, cursing himself for forgetting, since now he was almost freezing cold, the tall figure inched closer to the opening of the tent. Bilbo could not see it, but it could see Bilbo.  
  
As Bilbo spotted the parchment sitting atop a bench, he reached out for it, and the figure moved even closer to the opening. There was no sound, except for the shuffling of the Hobbit’s feet as he grabbed the parchment, and started to turn back around to leave.  
  
As he turned, his eyes caught onto the figure standing in the doorway. His heartbeats nearly stopped as it went to lift off its hood. Terrified, Bilbo backed up, tripping over a loose floorboard and falling on the hard ground. He watched as the figure took off his hood, and said, in a gruff voice;  
  
“Oh. It’s just you.”  
  
Beorn stood in the doorway, wearing a dark coat covered in snow. His face was rosy from the cold, hair matted as per usual. “All that suspense for nothing,” Bilbo thought, as he stood himself back up, feeling rather embarrassed. “What are you here for?”  
  
“I was thinking you would be someone else.” Beorn answered, glancing around the room to see if there really was anyone else present. “But I was going to ask you something anyway.”  
  
Bilbo knew that Beorn’s question would most probably be a favour, and that favour would probably be if he could help him with a creature of some sort. “What?”  
  
Beorn continued to glance around. “Bring your friends, and come down to the edge of the forest after your classes are done. Nightfall, I mean. There’s something you need to know about.”  
  
A mix of disappointment and excitement came rushing into Bilbo’s brain. Did Beorn know something else about the stone? Was that what they needed to know about? Or, maybe they would just be going back into the forest. Bilbo did not want to get near there ever again, not after finding the Unicorn. There really was a reason it was forbidden. Bilbo wanted to ask more, but he was freezing. “Sure. Alright.”  
  
“Right.” Beorn nodded, and turned to leave. “And Bilbo? If you see Professor Oakenshield, tell him I was looking for him.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, though he wasn’t quite sure if Beorn saw. Shivering, the Hobbit picked up the parchment, and headed out the opposite way to the castle. 

  


“He wants us to go into the forest again?”  
  
Classes were over. Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori sat in the library, Ori leaning on a pile of History of Magic books. The day had gone as planned. Professor Hilda had attempted to teach them about magical cobwebs but to little avail, seeing as how she could not unfreeze the web for a demonstration. During Defence Against the Dark Arts, Bilbo had not had time to tell Professor Oakenshield that Beorn had come looking for him that morning. In fact, Oakenshield had been acting pretty oddly for a while, now. After classes were finished he would leave to his office, locking the doors behind him. Come to think of it, the occasion was rare on which anyone would see Oakenshield outside of class. He would seldom spot the professor outside the castle, going for walks on the grounds no matter the weather. Bilbo would say that he was worried, except the matter was not his to worry about.  
  
Bilbo had informed Ori and Bofur of Beorn’s request. As expected, neither of them were keen on following up on it. “He just said to meet him at the edge. I don’t know if we’re actually going in.”  
  
“Valar, I hope not.” Bofur kicked the rest of the snow off of his boot that had gathered as they came from Herbology that morning. “Last time I was in there, we were luring out Gryphons.”  
  
“Well, I’ve never been inside and would like to keep it that way.” Ori stated, taking the topmost book off of his pile.  
  
“There’s something we can all agree on.” Bilbo said. “But I’ve already promised-”  
  
“You always promise people things involving us, Bilbo. Have you noticed that?” Ori said. “I mean, it’s not a horrible problem, but maybe you should ask.”  
  
“Right. Sorry. But we might get more notes on the stone from him.”  
  
Ori tossed a tightly-bound copy to Bofur. “How do you think that?”  
  
Bilbo shrugged. “He said there was something we need to know about.”  
  
“Speaking of the stone,” Bofur started. “does anyone have any idea of what we’re actually going to do once we know everything we can?”  
  
Bofur had a point. Bilbo was so very caught up in the now, in what they needed to do right at that instant, that he had never thought of what the outcome would be of all this. It stopped his train of thought for a few seconds. “I…” he tried, but nothing came.  
  
“I’d suppose we stop Thranduil stealing the stone.” Bofur continued. “But that means proving him, and actually stopping him.”  
  
“Bofur’s right.” Ori tossed Bilbo a green-bound copy. “Thranduil is much older and much stronger than we are. And if he wants the stone, he’ll probably be corrupted by it.”  
  
“Along with the chance that if we’re too late,” Bofur said. “he’ll already have its power.”  
  
“Can we focus on tonight, please?” Bilbo interrupted. The thoughts of failure and problems were bothering him. Failure was most certainly the worst outcome to happen at the end of this stone business. He’d already convinced his friends that it was important, that they would succeed - any other options would drive him off the edge. “We’re going down to the forest.”  
  
Ori and Bofur nodded. “That’s your problem, though, isn’t it?” Bofur said. “You don’t want to think about anything else but now.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. He couldn’t argue with the truth. “We’re still doing this, though. No matter what outcome.” Bofur added. “The whole way down the line.”  
  
“Thanks.” Bilbo said quietly. Again, he was feeling drained. Perhaps he was sick. That would be the only explanation for why he didn’t feel as up to adventure as he did before.  
  
The boys left the library after a little while, and waited out the hours until night fell over the castle. When the only light came from the moon outside, Bilbo and Bofur left the common room, Bilbo wearing the gold ring and clutching Bofur’s arm. They’d agreed to meet Ori in the Entrance Hall, and head down to the forest together. Bilbo had counted on Ori to bring a candle.  
  
“Lumos.” Bofur coughed as the two boys descended from the seventh floor. A feeble light illuminated itself on his wand. “Don’t run me into any walls.”  
  
“I won’t.” Bilbo promised. As they passed Elmira Elfenstone’s portrait, Bilbo saw that the colours in her background had changed. Instead of a royal blue sky behind her, there was now an eerie grey one, with a half moon just behind her head, reflecting the state of the night.  
  
As they reached the second floor, the sound of footsteps suddenly became audible. Bilbo whipped round, looking for the source of the sound.  
  
“Ouch!” Bofur gasped, as Bilbo accidentally had twisted his arm around. “What’re you doing?”  
  
Bilbo shushed him, staring into every corner for a hidden person. But the footsteps did not return. “Didn’t you hear that?”  
  
“Hear what?”  
  
“Footsteps.” But he shook his head, wondering if he’d simply imagined the noise to fill the eerie silence. “Never mind it. Let’s keep going.”  
  
Ori was waiting next to the oak doors of the Great Hall once they made their way down. He had, indeed, brought a candle. “Great. Let’s go, then.” Bofur said. Ori jumped.  
  
“Where are you?” He brought out his wand. Bilbo let go of Bofur’s arm, and he came back into vision. “Oh.” Ori said. “How did you…”  
  
“Grab my arm.” Bilbo said to him, still invisible. He reached out, grabbing onto Ori’s coat sleeve.  
  
“Don’t do that!” Ori told him, but he disappeared nevertheless.  
  
It took all three of them to push the doors open, but once they were outside, they started down to the edge of the forest. Bilbo had worn his only winter clothes, and was shivering from head to toe. Bofur had lent him a pair of earmuffs from his stock of winter clothes, and that was probably the only thing keeping his ears from falling off.  
  
Bilbo could hear Ori’s teeth chattering by the time they’d passed over the wooden bridge. The valley down below was devout of most colour except green and silver. Bilbo could see very little down there in the darkness, but there most certainly were no animals. Beorn’s hut was in sight now, the light was on inside. As the boys hurried down (all nearly tripping on an ice patch), Bilbo hoped that he had not misheard Beorn, and come at a time he was not supposed to.  
  
“D’you think we should knock?” Bofur suggested as they came to the hut. But as he said this, the door began to swing open with a creak. Bilbo let go of Ori and Bofur as Beorn stood in the doorway, holding out a crossbow. “I didn’t see you two coming.” he grumbled.  
  
“Three.” Bilbo took the gold ring off his hand.  
  
“How on earth did you do that?” Beorn pointed his crossbow at the ground.  
  
“Gift from someone.” Bilbo slipped the ring in his pocket, not wanting to be asked anything else about it. “Should we head to the forest?”  
  
“What? Oh, no, no, I wouldn’t make you do that.” Beorn shook his head. “Come inside, now.”  
  
Bilbo frowned in confusion. He had assumed they would be entering the forest to take part in yet another creature errand. As he took off his scarf, covered in snow, he caught sight of the darkness that was the Forbidden Forest. “How do you live next to that?” he asked Beorn, who was busy keeping Galard at bay.  
  
“I know the forest, Bilbo.” Beorn tugged at a string collar around the half-Warg’s neck. “I can tell deadly from docile. Anything in there is more afraid of me than I am of them.”  
  
This was most likely true, Bilbo thought. A six-foot metamorphmagus with a Warg-bred for a pet was something more likely to come out of the forest rather than outside of its grounds.  
  
“What did you want to tell us?” Bofur asked.  
  
Beorn placed the crossbow about a foot away from Galard. “What?”  
  
“You said there was something we needed to know.” Ori was shaking out his mittens above the fireplace. A large pot was sitting amongst the flames, steam rising from the lid.  
  
“Ah. Right, yes, I did.” Beorn grumbled. “Two things. One has to do with the Arkenstone, which I’m sure you lot will be glad of.”  
  
“You know something else?” Ori gasped excitedly.  
  
“Yes, well, I figured you’d never stop asking me.” He picked up a kettle sitting on the counter. “And I can’t tell you much. But there is one thing I can tell you.”  
  
All three boys stared intently. Beorn seemed to not want to focus on what he was saying. He took four mugs out of the cupboard above. “The King who discovered the Arkenstone,” he started pouring the water. “was named Thrór. He was obsessed with mining further and further into the mountain, where there were plots of gold and silver already. But the Arkenstone,” he set all four mugs down on the counter, Ori reaching out for one. “was a one in a million find. I assume you three know what happened to the kingdom after that.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “What else?”  
  
“Well, after it was found, there was a plot to attack.” Beorn continued on. “But it failed. The second time the attack happened, it succeeded. That was recently. But it only succeeded because someone had stolen the stone.”  
  
“We know.” Ori said.  
  
“Ah, but you don’t know who the thief was.” Beorn took a swig from the mug. “The thief’s name was Bolg. He stole it from inside the castle after the Gundabad Orcs tried to attack Erebor, failing as well.”  
  
“Wait, wasn’t it Smaug who wanted the stone?” Bilbo questioned. Beorn shivered at the name.  
  
“That was what everyone thought. The Arkenstone is a valuable object. The Ministry somehow managed to catch Bolg around the Iron Hills, took back the stone, and entrusted Hogwarts to keep it safe. Because Hogwarts is and always has been the most foolproof place to keep anything of value.” Beorn pushed a cup towards Bilbo, who’s hands were shaking.  
  
“Why are you telling us this?” Bofur asked Beorn.  
  
Beorn nodded slowly. “So that you know that the thing you’re looking for is guarded by Sol, the Dragon, for a reason. There were Orcs, Dwarves, Elves, Dragons and Men after this for ages. No one is going to slip through and steal it, because there is absolutely no way they could.”  
  
So it was an attempt to scare them off. Bilbo felt a chill thinking about what would happen if the stone got into their hands outside of Hogwarts. They’d surely be hunted down, chased within an inch of their lives… “But no one but the teachers know how to get to it?”  
  
Beorn sighed. “There’s an array of charms and obstacles protecting the Arkenstone. Even if someone got past Sol, they’d need to get past everything else.”  
  
“The professors must have made the protection. Who’s to say someone wouldn’t know how to undo it?” Bofur tried, but Beorn had moved on.  
  
“In other terms, the other thing I wanted to tell you was-” But as he spoke, there came a cracking sound from the fireplace. Not the sound that could be mistaken for firewood crackling, no, this was different. All heads turned to look as the sound came once more, louder. The pot trembled, and Beorn jumped towards it.  
  
“Beorn, what’s in there?” Ori asked as Beorn grabbed the pot out of the flames, rushing it over to the table. The boys stepped far back from the table as Beorn took the lid off, revealing a large black egg.  
  
“Oh, no.” Bofur gaped. “Where’d you get it?”  
  
The egg was rocking back and forth, the shell splitting in cracks all over itself. A cry came from inside it, and Ori too gaped.  
  
“That’s a Dragon egg!” he exclaimed.  
  
“Quiet, now, don’t want the whole forest to hear you.” Beorn muttered as a piece of shell flew off. Bilbo stared in awe. Why in the world would Beorn want another Dragon? He knew of their danger, did he not? Beorn was living in a wooden house, beside a forest, and had been keeping an unhatched Dragon?  
  
Another piece of shell flew off, and a green tail emerged. “I got it from a fellow in Dale last Saturday. We were betting, and I won it off him. He had said how he desperately wanted it off him anyway.”  
  
The baby Dragon cried out, a shrill squealing sound that sent the rest of the eggshell bursting off. There it lay, a tiny little thing such an ugly shade of juniper green, but Beorn stared at it as if it were his pride and joy.  
  
“That’s a Green Ridgeback.” Bofur exclaimed, staring at the Dragon almost as excitedly as Beorn was. “My cousin’s got all kinds of those!”  
  
“Beorn, don’t you think it’s a little odd keeping a Dragon in your own house?” Bilbo tried to reason.  
  
“It’s alright, Bilbo, no need to worry.” Beorn did not take his eyes off of the creature. It squealed and shook it’s tail about as the four of them watched it. “I know how to take care of one, see, I’ve already done it with Sol.”  
  
There was no use trying to talk him out of it. After only a little longer, Ori said that they should all be getting back to bed, anyways, and Beorn let them leave. Walking back up to the castle in the cold, Ori was ranting about how mad Beorn must be.  
  
“A Dragon, Bofur! A fire-breathing Dragon! He’s already got one in the castle, who says he needs another in his house!”  
  
“Ridgebacks are really quiet, they barely even have claws.” Bofur countered, but Ori kept going on. Bilbo was thinking of something else, again. He needed to go back to the secret room. It had been draining him all week, the thought of his parents waiting for him there. He already had the ring on, so it would be no trouble getting there undetected. He could make an excuse to Bofur and Ori. All he knew was that he needed a ground, something to take his mind off of the problems that came with the stone and now, Beorn’s new Dragon. How must it be to have a peaceful life at Hogwarts, he wondered.  
  
When the three reached the doors, Bilbo let go of their arms. Bofur and Ori reappeared instantly. “Listen, I need to take a different way.” he lied. “I think I left my Charms book in the classroom.”  
  
“What’re we supposed to do?” Bofur asked.  
  
Bilbo shrugged. “No one else is up, you don’t need to be invisible. Just go back to the common room.”  
  
Ori nodded, though his face had a look of concern. “Don’t do anything ridiculous.”  
  
“When have I ever?” Bilbo laughed, though it felt fake, and started through the doors.  
  
It didn’t take very long for Bilbo to find his way. The light at the tip of his wand barely helped him to not bump into walls, but soon enough, he was staring down the hallway of which he knew the secret room was in. As he drew closer, putting out his light, all he could think of was his mother and father, how they’d be behind him again, standing almost lifelike, so, so happy to see him. The thought made Bilbo’s heart race, leaving any dreary thoughts behind, and just as he reached the archway he went to his hand to remove the golden ring.  
  
But just as his finger touched the band, there came loud footsteps from the other way. Bilbo jumped back from the door as he heard a voice call out something unintelligible, and saw two figures walk down the hallway. He pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding, all thoughts of his parents gone. The two men were scuffling, one was much taller than the other, though Bilbo could barely see who they were without any light. Bilbo held his breath as the taller one shoved the other into the wall, pinning him there with his arm.  
  
“You know full well what you meant, Thorin.” a slow voice snapped. Bilbo couldn’t believe it. Thranduil stood there, glaring at the figure of Professor Oakenshield. Without thinking, Bilbo edged closer to the scene.  
  
“What happens behind that trapdoor is none of your business.” Oakenshield snapped back. “You had no right.”  
  
“I had every right.” Thranduil snarled. “It isn’t up to you to decide the fate of that stone. You, of all people, would know well what would happen if someone were to take it.”  
  
Bilbo stood in awe. He was hearing everything he needed to. He would have proof that Thranduil was planning to steal the stone now. His breaths became quicker.  
  
Oakenshield pushed back at Thranduil. “You have no idea. The Arkenstone is worthless to you, absolutely-”  
  
Thranduil laughed. “Worthless? My people fought wars over gems, you do not think they would do it again?” He stepped back, and Oakenshield stepped off the wall.  
  
“I know well why you were following me. You wouldn’t dare to do it again.” he warned. But Thranduil did not appear scared.  
  
“I will go back as many times as I must. And know, Thorin, that if any of this gets to Gandalf, you’ll find yourself back in the Blue Mountains.”  
  
“I will do what I must.” Oakenshield stated. He shoved into Thranduil’s shoulder, striding away before the Elf could say another word.  
  
Bilbo let out a gasp of relief. He had all the proof he needed to tell Gandalf that Thranduil was plotting to steal the stone. He started to walk away before he realized that Thranduil had not yet left the hallway.  
  
With a reach out, Thranduil began to move towards where Bilbo stood. He was staring right at him. But Bilbo could do nothing but stand there, hold his breath, hope that Thranduil would turn around.  
  
Staring around, Thranduil took his eyes off of Bilbo, and began back down the hallway with a swish of his cloak. Bilbo breathed another sigh of relief, and now dashed off down the opposite direction. There would be no mirror tonight. He had to tell Bofur about what he’d seen.  
  
Now was the beginning of the end of all the trouble they’d come across.


	18. Truth Will Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Happy New Year! Sorry this took a little longer than usual. I didn't have my computer for a while during the holidays. I wanted to say that today marks one year since I got started in the Hobbit fandom as my main fandom. I feel like I've become connected to it all (something I'll probably regret in hindsight), and I hope to keep writing for this fandom for another year. My tumblr btw is thorindefencesquad (#spon), and I hope you like the new chapter!

The wardrobe rattled on its feet, the doors shaking as if they were struggling to contain whatever was inside. The class of uneasy first-years stood metres away, each careful to not step forward. Only Professor Oakenshield had dared to stand directly beside it, as he had been the one to wheel it inside the classroom, with the explanation that the inhabiter had been reluctant to leave, and that it provided a good lesson.  
  
“This lesson will be different from our last few.” Oakenshield paced up and down the front of the room. “I’ve spared you on facing the dark arts before, but this is different.” The closet gave a loud shake, and a few students gasped. “Not to be feared, this wardrobe holds nothing more than a Boggart.”  
  
It was only Thursday, and Bilbo was as far on the edge as he could be. He was finding that his set of trustworthy professors was dwindling, along with the pile of questions he’d had. Very little remained uncertain in the stone business. After hearing the teachers arguing, Bilbo no longer had doubts that Thranduil would be climbing through that trapdoor and taking the Arkenstone right from under Gandalf’s nose. Every minute that he wasn’t talking to the headmaster was killing Bilbo. And even then, there was the event that Gandalf would not believe Bilbo, and let Thranduil get away. The list of things that could go wrong was as long as a Dragon’s tail, and it was becoming more and more likely that all of their plans would fail.  
  
On the subject of Dragon’s tails, Beorn had named his baby ridgeback Cinders. Ori had begged him to set it free, but it all fell on deaf ears. Cinders was barely a day old and had already started wreaking havoc around Beorn’s hut. Bofur had said he was lucky it hadn’t started it’s fire training yet. “You’ll need to get lots of steel. It’s almost like teething, but for Dragons. My cousin does it all the time in Moira.” he’d told him last night, when they’d gone to visit in the hopes of persuading him to give up the Dragon.  
  
“Did your cousin train his Dragons in a wooden hut next to a forest?” Ori had grumbled. “Because I’m sure that would’ve made it much easier.”  
  
“How so?” Bofur asked, as Cinders coughed out a puff of smoke.  
  
Ori swung his legs off the bench he’d been lying on. “It’d burn down everything around it, and then they’d have more room to grow.”  
  
The other Dragon they were worried with was Sol, the guardian of the trapdoor. Beorn wasn’t saying another word to do with the Arkenstone, so they had no idea how to get around him. “Thranduil must’ve figured it out already.” Bilbo’d told both Ori and Bofur on their way to History of Magic. “I heard him tell Oakenshield that he would go back as many times as he could.”  
  
“Maybe that means he doesn’t know how to get past it.” Ori said. “Maybe he’s trying to find a way.”  
  
They rounded the corner into the stairwell. “Well, we’ve got to find out first.” Bilbo said.  
  
“You’re not seriously wanting to go down there?” Bofur asked.  
  
Bilbo shook his head. But the exact reason why he wanted to bypass Sol evaded him. He simply stayed silent until they reached their classroom.  
  
Now, the three stood again in the centre of the Defence Against the Dark Arts room, Bilbo craning his neck to see where the wardrobe stood. Professor Oakenshield was still pacing the room. “Does anyone know what a Boggart is?”  
  
“A Boggart isn’t actually anything.” Ori piped up from beside Bilbo. “It’s an embodiment of whoever faces it’s greatest fear.”  
  
At this, the whole class collapsed into hushed and worried whispering. “Fears?” Godelina whispered to Aldreda. “How many fears? Do we have to do this?”  
  
“Glorison is correct.” Oakenshield said, interrupting the student’s conversations. The wardrobe rattled once more, and Bilbo saw the students nearest the front step back. “A Boggart is an entity that only takes it shape once it sees another entity. Once it sees you, it looks through you to find the thing you fear the most, and that it becomes.” Bilbo jumped as a muffled cry came from inside the wardrobe. “By fear, I mean the thing that makes your skin crawl, your muscles lock up. Not just spiders and Ents. A Boggart can transform into a creature of darkness if it must.”  
  
There was a silence, in which Bilbo was sure the entire class became terrified. “So how do we defeat it, then?” Ruiwen asked.  
  
“What a Boggart despises most is being undermined.” Oakenshield explained. “To defeat it, you have to reverse its purpose. Laughter,” he said, when everyone appeared confused. “is the opposite of tears. Humour is the opposite of terror. Wands out now.” The class took out their wands as instructed. “The charm you use is ‘riddikulus’.”  
  
“Ridiculous?” a Hufflepuff girl asked.  
  
“Say it, now. Riddikulus.” Oakenshield instructed, moving his wand in a dipping motion.  
  
“Riddikulus.” the class echoed.  
  
“This class is ridiculous.” Bilbo heard Aldreda remark to a giggling Godelina.  
  
Oakenshield stopped pacing, and moved towards the trembling wardrobe. “When I open this door, the Boggart will have already chosen its first target. Once it is defeated once, it will move around to all of you. I cannot tell who it will target first. Have your wands at the ready, and spread out.”  
  
Bofur grabbed Bilbo by the sleeve and pulled him away from the already-dividing group. Ori followed them, his wand pointed directly at the closet. Bilbo could feel Bofur’s hand shaking, and looked up to see his wand hand following suit, quivering yet still pointed. Bilbo wondered what he could be so worried about. Bofur didn’t seem like the kind of person to be fearful.  
  
Oakenshield waved his wand over the lock. It came undone with a sharp click, and the doors stood unopened. The silence was so strong, it could have broken a diamond.  
  
And then they swung open, and out stepped Professor Thranduil. Bilbo nearly jumped away in shock before looking at his eyes. Instead of their usual ice blue, they looked to be made of glass. No pupil or iris swirled inside of it. It sent a chill up Bilbo’s spine as the Boggart Thranduil slithered forward, striding slowly but threateningly towards Bofur’s little brother, Bombur, who was petrified.  
  
“The spell.” Oakenshield reminded him in a careful tone. Everyone watched as the Boggart slinked even further towards Bombur, who was pale. Bilbo did not know someone could fear a teacher this much. The only sound was the Boggart’s slow steps, the gliding of his robe.  
  
“Now, Bombur.” Oakenshield said again, this time with more warning. Bombur’s wand hand trembled as he spoke in a small voice.  
  
“Riddikulus!” He pointed his wand straight at the Boggart’s glass eyes, and there was a sound like a crack of lightning. The Boggart’s form swirled around right before their eyes, and reappeared as Thranduil again with a cauldron on his head.  
  
Bilbo, along with the rest of the class erupted into laughter as the Boggart Thranduil stumbled around blindly with the cauldron on its head. Bombur’s face returned to colour, and Oakenshield clapped his hands together. “Well done, very well done.” he exclaimed. “Stay on guard, it’s coming around now.”  
  
Indeed, the Boggart was. It had turned to face a small Hufflepuff girl with daisies woven into her hair. There was another lightning crack, and the Boggart became an oversized hawk. It flapped its wings and snapped its beak at the girl, but she did not hesitate for a single second. “Riddikulus!” she cried, and the bird exploded into an array of bright lights. The class awed at the fireworks, but they did not stay for long, for there was another crack and suddenly the fireworks became a pack of snapping wolves.  
  
Ruiwen gasped, and nearly fell into Godelina. “R-riddikulus!” they said, but nothing happened to the wolves. They rounded themselves, inching closer to Ruiwen, barking and howling.  
  
“You’ve got to mean it.” Oakenshield told them. They looked as though they were about to cry. “Have courage with the spell.”  
  
“Riddikulus!” Ruiwen shouted, and this time the Boggart changed into a family of ducks. They quacked and waddled around the laughing classroom, Ruiwen pale yet chuckling.  
  
So it continued on for most everyone else. Bilbo was beginning to think they were tiring out the Boggart by now. It had transformed into hooded figures, wailing ghosts, a series of pocket watches, and even a white rabbit, which scared the wits out of a Gryffindor girl. Bilbo was having the time of his life watching as the Boggart changed back and forth for each target, each casting of Riddikulus changing it into something funnier than the last. By the time it centred on his side of the room, he’d forgotten all about facing it.  
  
A Boggart walking bird straggled around the room until it centred on Ori, standing right beside Bilbo. With a crack and a swirl, the Boggart changed its form into a figure, almost human-like, wrapped from head to toe in spiderwebs. Ori gasped as it let out a shriek that pierced Bilbo’s ears, pushing against its bonds but finding no way out. Ori stared at the Boggart, his face twisting into a look of physical pain as it continued to cry out.  
  
“Say the spell.” Oakenshield reminded him, and Ori seemed to snap out of a sleep. “Riddikulus!” he shouted, and before Bilbo could cover his ears, it transformed into a swan that glided around the room before landing at Bilbo’s feet.  
  
Time seemed to stop as the Boggart stood there in front of Bilbo. He could have sworn that it was looking right into him, piercing his chest and finding his very soul. The sensation chilled Bilbo, but the Boggart did not appear to be anything less than innocent in its swan form. Then, suddenly, Bilbo became very aware of his surroundings. He could see students moving from the other side of the room, and felt tension unlike ever before.  
  
A lightning crack sounded, and time returned to as it had been. Bilbo’s wand at the ready, he tried not to stagger backwards into Bofur. The swan began to swirl around, twist itself around until it was nothing but a cloud of smoke. Bilbo desperately ran through everything he’d ever been afraid of; geese, Dragons, open water; but nothing seemed drastic enough. As the Boggart continued to swirl, he kept searching his mind for his worst fear, but as he did, he found that it had disappeared from mind. Stolen, by the thing standing in front of him now, which had taken its form.  
  
It was not a person, nor animal. The Boggart hovered in front of Bilbo as a castle, Hogwarts castle, lit up in flames. Several people gasped as the flames licked towards Bilbo. Bilbo was frozen on the spot. He knew what it meant. Of course it wasn’t simply having the castle burn down, it was him failing, and getting everyone else in danger. He knew he wasn’t inside the Boggart of Hogwarts, he was watching as everyone else fell. And the fear that rooted itself inside him that moment rooted him to the ground.  
  
Oakenshield did not remind him of the spell. He, like everyone else, was watching with wide eyes and confusion. Just as Bilbo felt as if he could use his wand again, the flaming doors of the castle burst open, and out ran a tiny figure. But no matter what size, Bilbo recognized who it was. Thranduil was running out of the castle, a gleaming stone in his hand, leaving the castle to burn.  
  
His greatest fear was being wrong, and having everyone else suffer because of it. His greatest fear was letting Thranduil steal the Arkenstone. And if he watched anymore, he would be sure to see the consequences of that, too.  
  
But Oakenshield had jumped in front of Bilbo mere seconds after he spotted Thranduil. Bilbo jumped backwards, nearly knocking over Bofur. “Riddikulus!” Oakenshield shouted at the Boggart menacingly. But with a crack, the Boggart did not become something of humour. Instead, it became a huge, blood-red Dragon. Bilbo heard someone scream as the Dragon Boggart breathed a blast of flames towards Oakenshield, dissolving when they neared his face.  
  
“Riddikulus!” he cried again, and this time the Boggart changed into a paper bird. It soared around the room, gliding on thin air, but Oakenshield took ahold of it, and sent it flying back into the wardrobe. The doors locked and swung shut, and then the wardrobe rattled fiercely as it had done before.  
  
“Class is dismissed.” Oakenshield breathed, not turning back to face them. But no one needed to be told twice. They had seen enough for today.

  


“So you’re sure what you heard?”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur were the only ones left awake in the dormitory. After Defence Against the Dark Arts as well as Transfiguration were both over, they and Ori had met up at Elmira’s portrait on the third floor, each with questions to ask to each other. A few had been about their Defence lesson, along the lines of “How were we supposed to defeat it, anyways?” and a few comments on exactly what everyone’s Boggart was. Bilbo decided against asking Bofur what his would have been. He remembered their lesson when Oakenshield showed them the curses, and just how shaken Bofur had been by them. It was a box for another time, Bilbo thought, perhaps when they were older and wiser. He’d hate to make anyone feel uncomfortable, especially since he knew how it felt.  
  
But what had been the overall topic of conversation had been Bilbo’s upcoming talk with Professor Gandalf, just tomorrow evening, actually. The original plan had been that Bilbo would claim to be doing research for a History of Magic essay on the Arkenstone, and ask Gandalf for more information on the stone itself. But the situation had changed since they last planned their tactics. They had found out everything for themselves, what with help from Beorn and a few library books, and the only thing troubling them now was their concern of Thranduil stealing the stone.  
  
Bilbo was wary of accusing a teacher, obviously. Even if the stakes were outweighing the rules, Bilbo was prone to worry. Ori, in a stellar turn of tables, had been using all the reasons he had to convince Bilbo he absolutely did need to tell Gandalf everything, no matter if it broke the rules or not. Bofur had added in as the middle man, that there really was no rule against accusing a professor of an action. Bilbo had to agree, he was right.  
  
So a new action plan was put in state. Bilbo would say that he had overheard Thranduil speaking to Professor Oakenshield about a stone, and how he was intent on entering the room as many times as possible, which in general, was no lie. The hope was that Gandalf would catch on to his hint, and take his action against Thranduil. But there could be no outright statements made against Thranduil (as proposed by Bilbo), or any playing dumb (as demanded by Ori). Follow everything they had planned, and they would be in the clear. Bilbo’s Boggart had fuelled him by fear, and he wanted to get Thranduil as far away from the stone as possible. He could only hope that he would be brave and smart enough to go through, and that Gandalf would be as helpful as they thought he was.  
  
“I still can’t believe it.” Bofur said, as the Gryffindor boys lay in their beds, Bilbo filling his mind with worries instead of usual calm memories for sleep. “One of our teachers actually wants to steal the Arkenstone.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, though through the dark, Bofur could not see. “It’s a good thing Oakenshield is trying to stop him, though.”  
  
“You can’t ever trust Elves.” Bofur said. “You understand it now, don’t you?”  
  
Bilbo thought on it for a while. He’d always thought the Dwarves and Elves rivalry had been a thing of the past, set on a battle that mattered not today. But, perhaps, there was some long-surviving truth to it. Though it felt rude to assume ill of an entire race based off a few actions he’d seen, he could no longer pass off the things Bofur said as spite. Perhaps it was their own situation, back when this had all started, a situation in which someone had been rude, or stolen an item, that had become an ages-old rivalry.  
  
Yes, he did understand it now, but not simply for one side’s righteousness. He was, in fact, a Hobbit, not an Elf or Dwarf, and felt no need to face the problems they did himself. But he’d been caught up in it all already, and choosing sides seemed ridiculous still. Whatever he had to do, he’d do it for everyone’s sake, not just to prove Elves were thieves and liars. There were Elves going to Hogwarts who would suffer if Thranduil got away. He thought of Ruiwen and Taraneth. Even if Elves like Thranduil or Legolas had been crude to him, and he had every right to dislike them, he was going to do this for everyone’s safety. Not something an eleven year-old Hobbit usually does, but he was Bilbo Baggins after all.  
  
Instead of replying, Bilbo rolled over onto his side. He would have a long day tomorrow, and he was not to waste his time with Gandalf speaking about Elves and Dwarves. “I can see it, yes.” he replied finally. “But last time I was, you were still friends with Ruiwen?”  
  
“That’s different.” Bofur said, his voice muffled. Bilbo laughed quietly, and closed his eyes.  
  
Friday came, as surely as the sun rose over the mountains that morning. Herbology consisted of a short experiment with Bowtruckle leaves that took up most of the class. Bilbo was astonished at how boring Bowtruckles were, and how Bombur could manage to injure himself with a leaf. Defence Against the Dark Arts was less adventurous than the previous day’s, where instead Oakenshield taught them the Jelly Legs Jinx, and had them practice it on their tables. Double Potions was last, and Bilbo was sure that whilst he was making his Befuddlement Draught, Thranduil was staring him down. Legolas provided a distraction to Thranduil, though Bilbo was sure he wasn’t doing it for him, as he was having trouble extracting the sap from the oak branches. Thranduil actually shouted at him when he sent the branch flying at Taraneth in an attempt to break it in half. Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh as Legolas struggled to explain that it had been an accident, and had never been so glad someone else had gone wrong.  
  
The impending meeting with the headmaster distracted Bilbo from his Herbology essay and new star chart. He worked in the library, copying off the star chart Ori had gotten Bofur for a winter gift, drawing the constellation Menelmacar with an empty focus. A few Slytherin boys were practicing the severing charm on their books not too far away from Bilbo, sending pages flying everywhere once cut open. Bilbo tried to pay attention to his own work, but found himself staring at the group of boys every so often. He had nothing else to think about but everything he was going to say to the headmaster.  
  
Every hour before the evening seemed to last a lifetime. He barely ate anything for dinner, and was only half finished his star chart when Ori entered the common room, the warrior portrait complaining of how the boundaries between houses meant nothing today. Bilbo was sitting on an armchair by the hearth, staring into the low flames. Outside the window he could see the lowering sun, setting just as it was setting their plan into motion.  
  
“It’s time.” Ori told him, his voice hinting on pity and understanding, though what for Bilbo was unaware of. “You can go now. I think he’s up in his office.”  
  
“We’ll go with you.” Bofur offered, setting down his Herbology essay.  
  
Bilbo nodded. “Thanks.” He moved to get to his feet. “But I’d better go alone.”  
  
Ori sighed. “If you have to. But don’t get overwhelmed.”  
  
The sun was quickly disappearing, and Bilbo knew he would have to go now, or never. “Alright. Wish me luck.” And before either Bofur or Ori could say anything else, he left the common room.  
  
Bilbo encountered a problem earlier on than he thought he would; he did not actually know where Professor Gandalf’s office was. This lead to a great deal of wandering, a waste of time which Bilbo was not proud of in any way. The light flooding in through the glass windows in the stairwell seemed to mock him as he tried every corridor for some sort of sign that the headmaster’s office was there. The sunlight had nearly faded, all but for a single beam as he found his way down to the third floor, where the portrait of Elmira Elfenstone stood, still awake as though paralyzed.  
  
“What brings you down to me at this hour?” the portrait asked as Bilbo approached her. “You should really be up in Gryffindor tower.”  
  
“Do you, by a chance,” Bilbo began. “know how I can get to the headmaster’s office? It’s an emergency.”  
  
“Funny, you don’t look to be in any need.” Elmira said. “But if you’re telling the truth, I’d be happy to lead.”  
  
“Wait, you know how to get there?” Bilbo had only come to Elmira looking for a place to rest. He’d been looking for at least half an hour. Luck seemed to be on his side now.  
  
Elmira nodded her head ever-so-slightly. “A giant of stone guards the entrance you seek, left and three steps from behind my cheek.”  
  
“Can I go through then? What’s the riddle?”  
  
“Oh, never mind a riddle, dear! You’ve earned it, coming to visit all throughout the year.” Elmira told him, and her portrait swung open.  
  
“Thank you. I’ll make it up.” Bilbo thanked her, and entered through the portrait, emerging near the Charms classroom. “Left, she said left.” Bilbo reminded himself, and began to walk briskly to the left. Passing a few tapestries and paintings, he could no longer see light outside. He wondered if Ori had gone back to his common room by now. It would be no use waiting for him. Bilbo lost himself in thought of whether or not he should have told Bofur and Ori not to await him, and if he was keeping them up, which would be such an inconvenience. Whether he was at Hogwarts now or not, he was still a respectable Hobbit, a trait he personally thought everyone should have. He was so caught up thinking this to himself that he didn’t even notice he had walked into a wall. At least, until it hit him.  
  
Staggering backwards, Bilbo looked up at the thing he had ran into. As it turned out, it was not a wall. A carving of a giant, made from pure black stone, stood in his way. “This must be Gandalf’s office.” Bilbo told himself, remembering Elmira’s help. “Um, sorry to disturb, but I need to see the headmaster.” he told the stone giant.  
  
It did not move. Puzzled, Bilbo tried again. “Is Professor Gandalf in there? I need to ask him something. Really.” Yet the stone giant stayed in place. “I’m sorry, really, I am, but can you let me through? Do I need a password or something like it? Um…” Now he was stuck again. There was no way he could figure out the password to Gandalf’s office. But Bilbo refused to give up. He refused to simply stand there while Thranduil was most likely in the third floor corridor now, trying to sneak past the Dragon.  
  
“Wizard? Hogwarts? Gryffindor?” None of them worked. Bilbo thought through everything the headmaster had ever said to him, or anyone, which was a very short list in itself. “Silver? Watercress?” he tried, thinking back to the words Gandalf had said at the beginning of the year. Questing? Firemoon?”  
  
At the last word, the stone giant shifted aside. There was a loud clunking noise as it stepped away from it’s post, revealing a spiral of stairs behind him. Bilbo took a deep breath. He was here. Now was the time. “Thanks.” he said to the stone giant, and began to climb the steps.  
  
It felt like he was climbing for a lifetime. Each time he rounded a corner, he thought he would meet a platform, but he did not, not for the longest time. Just before his feet couldn’t take any more stairs, he saw a great door. His heart stopped. The door looked to be carved into the wall, with silver designs and blue writing. Hurrying forward, Bilbo searched for a door knocker, or bell, leaning against the door itself. He took another breath, then knocked.  
  
At once, the door opened. Bilbo staggered to his feet, inadvertently entering the room. Gandalf’s office was a beautiful place, almost reminding him of the secret mirror room. It was circular, with a tall ceiling that could see into the night sky. Portraits of what he assumed to be past headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts lined the walls, along with silver paintings of stars and moons on the wall. A number of strange brass instruments sat on short tables, bookshelves were filled with novels and encyclopedias, and shelves holding everything from candy boxes to the Sorting Hat, perched on the highest shelf, snoozing away. Bilbo stood in awe of the room, the most curious one he had seen, and nearly forgot why he was here.  
  
“Good evening, Bilbo.” Professor Gandalf was sat behind an oak claw-footed desk, taking up nearly half the room. Bilbo was startled. “And what brings you to my office at this hour?”  
  
Everything Bilbo had planned with Bofur and Ori seemed to fly out the window. The headmaster was sat behind his desk, grey hat and all, creating smoke rings from his pipe, something Lobelia had regarded as a rude thing to do indoors. Bilbo instantly felt three feet smaller. “Er, good evening, Professor.”  
  
“And a good evening to you, though I believe I’ve already said that.” Gandalf replied.  
  
“Sorry.” Bilbo stuttered. He could see Ori putting his head in his hands as he spoke. “Um, if you don’t mind, I’ve got something I need to tell you.”  
  
“Sit down, then, Bilbo.” Gandalf set down his pipe, and a chair pulled itself out from underneath the desk. Bilbo took a seat, facing the headmaster. Where to start? “Do begin.”  
  
Bilbo could not think of how to start. Was he supposed to claim he was working on a project, or that he had heard Thranduil outside the third floor corridor? No, he wasn’t supposed to do either; he was to say that Thranduil had taken the stone; no, that wasn’t right either. In the heat of the moment, Bilbo was beginning to burn up. Fearing the awkward silence, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Professor Thranduil’s a thief.”  
  
Gandalf raised an eyebrow. “Is he? I was unaware.”  
  
Now the opposite was happening to Bilbo; he had started, and could not stop. “A few months ago, I found my way to the third floor corridor, well, by accident, see, and…actually, that doesn’t have to do with anything, but I saw the Dragon and my friend Ori said that it was standing on a trapdoor. And during the summer, Beorn picked up a package from Gringotts and said it was secret. So when we went to ask Beorn how the Dragon got there and what it was guarding, he said-”  
  
“Slow down.” Gandalf said. “You saw the Dragon on the third floor, and were asking Beorn what it was guarding.”  
  
Bilbo took a breath. “Yes, and Beorn said that it only concerned you, him, and the King Under the Mountain. We didn’t know what it was, but then my friend Bofur remembered that the king had something called the Arkenstone, well, obviously he doesn’t have it now, because it’s in the school.”  
  
“Go on.” Gandalf did not seem fazed by any of this. Bilbo had been sure he’d have stopped him by now. Everything he was talking about was against the rules.  
  
“And then on Hallow’s Eve, I saw Thranduil, his leg was bleeding, and when he taught our Defence Against the Dark Arts class he gave a lesson on Dragons. Bofur thought he might have been trying to get around the Dragon on the third floor, since he looked like he’d been injured. And he knew an awful lot about Dragons.” If he could stop himself, he would have, but everything seemed to be spilling out of his mouth. “And just a few days ago I heard him and Professor Oakenshield arguing.”  
  
“What were they arguing about?” Gandalf asked, interested in Bilbo’s story.  
  
“Thranduil was saying he would go back to the third floor as many times as he had to, and that his people would fight over gems. Oakenshield was saying he didn’t have the right to do that, but I don’t think Thranduil listened. I think he wants to steal the Arkenstone.”  
  
“Anything else you have to add?”  
  
Bilbo took a shallow breath. “And he jinxed my broom at Quidditch.” He then caught his breath, and felt like an idiot.  
  
Gandalf did not speak for a minute or so. He leaned back in his chair, and gazed around the room. “You have some compelling evidence. Bravo on finding out everything you could on the Arkenstone. I was completely unaware anyone else but the teachers knew.”  
  
“Please don’t expel my friends.” Bilbo said pleadingly. “I’ll take it for them, they were just helping me.” But Gandalf waved his hand.  
  
“There will be no expelling tonight, Bilbo.” he assured him, much to Bilbo’s surprise. “How did you and your friends come to know all this?”  
  
“We asked Beorn, the groundskeeper. But don’t get him in trouble, either.”  
  
“No need.” Gandalf said. “I am simply congratulating you, as well as Bofur and Ori. So you did all the research yourself, the three of you?”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “Bofur found the book on the Arkenstone, and Ori found the one on the king. The stone seemed like the thing Beorn got from Gringotts with me during the summer.”  
  
Gandalf nodded his head slowly. “And why do you think Professor Thranduil is wanting to steal it?”  
  
“Because,” Bilbo began. “because…” He knew that he was attempting to steal the stone, not why he wanted it. “because it has power? Yes, because it’s very powerful and gives fortune and good luck to whoever has it. We found that out too.”  
  
One of the portraits stirred in its sleep. Gandalf tapped his fingers on the desk to a silent melody. “Thank you for telling me this, Bilbo. You’ve been very helpful. I believe it is my turn now to tell you something.”  
  
Bilbo braced himself for the worst. Gandalf was going to tell him he would not be allowed back next year, or that all three of them would be suspended. He was kicking himself for spilling like he did. He really did need someone to hold him back.  
  
“The Arkenstone came into the school’s hands just around a year before now.” Gandalf began. “The story of how that came to be is for another time. But, when it came onto our grounds, every professor in the school decided we should hide it away from students. Just in case they became too curious. We must have done a worse job than we thought on that.” he said, motioning to Bilbo. “But every teacher came together to put it far beneath the ground. Everyone contributed to its defence.  
  
“I was fortunate enough to speak with Professor Thranduil just this summer about the Arkenstone. His contribution to defence was a curious one, and I had to ask why. And do you know what he said to me?”  
  
“What?” Bilbo asked eagerly.  
  
“He said that he was making sure there could be no way a soldier or spy could get past his defences. A puzzle made only for the intelligent and brave, but unwilling to work with the intellectual and arrogant. He said he knew that many soldiers thought they were brave when all they were was arrogant, and that spies assumed they knew everything there was to know, putting themselves ahead of anyone else.  
  
“I tried asking him how exactly he knew it would prove effective in the end, and he told me that it would work because it must, because there could be no way anyone could get underneath that trapdoor. I think you took his statement about his people waging war over gems in the wrong context, Bilbo. Elves have always been prone to trouble when it comes to crafts. It would be no surprise if it happened to them again.  
  
“You could be right. Professor Thranduil could be inside that trapdoor at this very moment, as I attempt to tell you he has done no wrong. If he has, then I will consider myself foolish. I’ll be acting on your words, and revisiting my staff and their standpoints on the defences. But I believe that if Thranduil really is inside the trapdoor, taking the Arkenstone outside of the castle, that it would not truly be him. There is more to him than you can see, Bilbo. His past is a story for another time, but the Thranduil I know would do everything in his power to stop anyone starting a fight over another precious gem.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s a clear night out tonight, Bilbo. I suggest you peer outside as you return to your common room. Thank you very much.”  
  
Bilbo got to his feet. He was unable to tell if Gandalf believed him or not. He felt as if a marble weight had been lifted from his chest, and he felt a little safer, if anything. “Thank you, professor.” And he made his way to the door.  
  
“Bilbo.” Professor Gandalf called after him. Bilbo turned to see him with his pipe in hand again. “Sometimes we make assumptions due to who we trust. If a songbird and a wild dog were in the forest, and one struck a horse, you may assume it was the dog. But just because the songbird has a beautiful melody, it does not mean you should count it out. Goodnight.”  
  
“Goodnight, professor.” Bilbo said, trying to make sense of what the headmaster had just said. And with that, he left.  
  
Returning to the common room much later than when he had left it, he took Gandalf’s advice, and gazed out the window at the night sky. There were as many stars up above as there were blades of grass down below tonight, and Bilbo lost himself in the stars. Now he had exercised every possible solution. Truly, the only thing they could do now, was hope.  
  
Bilbo remembered the last time he wished he were someplace else. The stars seemed to mock him, up above, not a care or fear in the world, free as they could be. Hogwarts was like a home to him now. But Bilbo was wondering if he would ever find a home he could be at ease in.


	19. Dragon-Keepers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry for the long wait, I was a little bit busier since my last update. I hear a lot of positive remarks on this fic, and thank you all so much for reading it! We're getting a little closer to the end. I hope I'm writing something you're all enjoying.

The harsh wind blew flakes of frost into Bilbo’s curling hair as he shut the window. The sun was only just rising over the mountains, a pale sight through the glass window in the boys dormitory. Mithril, the raven, sat atop Bilbo’s knee, staying still and allowing itself to be stroked as Bilbo sat in silence. It was the first day of February, and the snow had stopped falling from the sky. Ruiwen had supposed this meant the coming of spring was soon, and that the rest of the snow would start to melt away soon. They were most probably right; the bright sun had already started breaking through the clouds much more often than before.  
  
It had been a full week since he’d spoken to Gandalf. Hearing him say he would look into the matter seemed to lift a boulder off of Bilbo’s chest. But whether or not he had actually believed him was a different matter. What Gandalf had meant by saying that Thranduil could not truly be himself if he was stealing the stone made minimal sense to Bilbo. Was he implying that he’d been replaced by an impostor? Bilbo was wondering if he would ever be free of worry from this matter. While the boulder had been lifted, a few rocks still remained in place.  
  
The Gryffindor Quidditch team had played in their match against Slytherin just yesterday. Bilbo had forgotten all about Thranduil refereeing until he saw him on the pitch, making his heart jump into his mouth. The whole team had agreed that they could not lose that day, even with Thranduil’s bias they were sure he would bring. Bilbo did not say anything about him accusing Thranduil of being a thief to Gandalf himself, because the thought that Gandalf may have told Thranduil that Bilbo had said this had only just entered his mind. But since Thranduil had not made any more direct attempts to hurt Bilbo since the last Quidditch match, he assumed this had not happened yet.  
  
The game ended in a Gryffindor victory, and though the party raged into the evening in the common room, it had been rather bittersweet. Magdrapes, the hunk of Dwarf Slytherin called their Captain, had nearly knocked Nori off his broom twice, each time resulting in Gryffindor receiving a penalty for ‘interrupting a path’. Bilbo had had multiple Bludgers thrown at him left and right, all with Thranduil pretending not to notice. He’d caught the Snitch eventually, but the score had been close, much too close for comfort. 170 to 150 was something sure to be sour in the rest of the team’s minds. Their final match against Ravenclaw was not set until May, so they had plenty of time for the weather to warm. Fili and Kili were still going strong with their Bludger counting, and each wanted to hit one thousand Bludgers by the end of year, a fact Tauriel was annoyed with, seeing as most of them went whizzing right by her head.  
  
Exam season was not set until June, but according to the professors, it could very well be the next week. Bilbo had to remember to thank Ori for becoming their friend; without him, he would not have gotten any sleep at all, what with all the work they were being given. Potions had assigned a two-page essay on the favourable and unfavourable components of antidotes; Transfiguration was expecting them to perfect turning a quill into a coin and back again; Charms was teaching new spells left and right; Defence Against the Dark Arts wanted them to read two chapters of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection; and History of Magic continued to bore Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori out of their minds.  
  
The good thing was that they still had free time, free time away from worry about the stone or homework. Bofur was continuing to teach Bilbo Creature’s Chess, which he had gotten much better at, beating Kili the next time he offered to play him. Beorn had called them down to his hut more times, where Cinders continued to grow. The baby Dragon had already learned to breathe out puffs of smoke and flames, nothing too drastic yet still worrying. “He must have lost his mind.” Ori said as Beorn let the Dragon climb onto his shoulder. “No one sane would keep a Dragon at a school, let alone two of them.”  
  
“He’ll set him free once he grows.” Bofur said, but Bilbo could tell that fact was not certain. Beorn had already brought meat and chicken blood for the Dragon, making the whole hut smell of a butcher’s shop. Beorn was taking care of Cinders as if it was his own, something Bilbo was sure was a sign of lost sanity, but he was ever-so happy taking care of it. He knew someone would have to take it away, but it was making Beorn so ecstatic. Maybe once he realized Cinders’s potential danger, he would come to his senses. That would make it much easier.  
  
As Bilbo sat on the windowsill, looking out as the sun rose against the white snow, he thought of the dream he’d had so long ago. In it, he’d been standing on a frozen lake when the ice had begun to crack, and he’d nearly fallen into the water, until a raven holding a dagger in it’s beak flew by, and he’d awoken. The third-years downstairs were taking Divination with a professor Saruman, and Bilbo had been lucky enough to overhear them talking about their studies of dreams. According to a short third-year boy who’d been reading aloud from a book on the subject, ‘a dream has the power to predict reality in it’s strange manner’. If one was to fall from a height in their dream, accordingly, it meant that they were going to fail at something in the close future. If one was in flight while dreaming, they would be rewarded for their actions soon. But Bilbo had not been falling nor flying, he had been losing his balance atop a frozen lake. Perhaps he should make to ask the third-years what the dream had meant. No dream had ever bothered him in the past before, but with everything else going on, he should make sure that his head was just as stable as his body.  
  
The rest of the dormitory awoke soon, bringing Bilbo back into the day and out of his memory. It was a Sunday, a day free from responsibility and classes, sure to be spent doing Potions work nevertheless. Getting into his plain day robes, Bilbo noticed how much his hair had grown since he’d arrived at Hogwarts. Lobelia had always been trimming his hair the second it curled past his ears, but now the ringlets were hanging just above his shoulders. If he were in Hobbiton, this would have mortified him. But now that he was so far away from home, hair length seemed to be the least of his worries. Perhaps he would ask Bofur for some advice for braiding it to keep it out of his way.  
  
“Professor Hilda says she’s going to start exams early if we keep on turning in our homework late.” Godelina fretted at breakfast over her toast. “It’s all my fault, I’m sorry, I was late on my Venomous Tentacula essay.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry, I’m sure someone else missed an assignment.” Aldreda reassured her, patting her hand on the table.  
  
“But what if Herbology exams start on Tuesday? Have you done the Mandragora root experiment?” Godelina asked to Bilbo worriedly.  
  
“Oh! Um, yes, yes I have.” he lied. Though he was sure even Professor Hilda would not begin exams early due to one student handing in late homework.  
  
Godelina sighed. “I’m sorry, Al, I’m just so stressed.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Gode, the exams aren’t until May, you’ll have plenty of time to get better at Transfiguration till then!” Aldreda said. She leaned onto her, and rested her head on Godelina’s shoulder. They both seemed pleased.  
  
“Can I lean on you?” Bofur asked Bilbo, looking at the girls. “I got to sleep later than usual-”  
  
“No.” Bilbo said. “You’d weigh me down.”  
  
As Bofur turned back to his eggs, Fili and Kili began to slide down the length of the table towards the first-years. Fili had a piece of parchment in hand, and Kili was whispering to his brother about something unknown. “Do you have a second?” he asked Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo shrugged. “Sure.”  
  
Kili tossed the parchment at him. It flew a few centimetres away from his plate, landing open to a small drawing of Hogwarts castle, with colourful fireworks going off in the background. ‘No-Fire Fireworks!’ it read in lettering that stuck off the page. ‘See a once-in-a-school-year show above the lake on February 11th. Designed by Fili and Kili Durinson.’  
  
“You wouldn’t mind passing that around, would you?” Fili asked as a favour. “I would myself, but we’ve got to work on the show itself.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “Alright.” He nudged Bofur’s shoulder, and gave the flyer to him. Bofur read over it for a few seconds.  
  
“When’d you come up with this?” He handed the parchment back to Kili.  
  
“Last weekend, as you’d have known if you asked us anything.” he scowled lightly. Kili tossed the parchment back to Bilbo, again floating just out of his reach. “They’re only visible to people wearing our special enchantment we’re putting on glasses. That way Elrond can’t catch us.”  
  
“We’re doing it for Glóin.” Fili told them. “He gave us the idea.”  
  
“That sounds alright.” Bofur said. “Aldreda!” he called. Aldreda opened her eyes from her place on Godelina’s shoulder. “Pick up that parchment, would you?”  
  
She did, and showed it to Godelina, who then tossed it to Ruiwen, who showed a few second-years sitting beside them. “Word spreads fast.” Kili nodded. “Thanks, Bilbo.” The two of them got up and began to exit the Great Hall.  
  
Bilbo returned to slicing a red apple. He had heard of the brother’s fireworks plan before. He hoped it would work out for them. That would be a nice present for someone.  
  
After breakfast, the first-years went to their own devices, with the exception of Godelina and Aldreda, who headed to the library in search of Herbology books. Bilbo and Bofur decided to go and visit Beorn, who they hoped was still not trying to tame Cinders. “I’ve been thinking.” Bofur began as they walked across the bridge. The valley below was still filled with snow, but thick-coated rabbits had begun to return to their homes underneath the snow-branched trees. Bilbo could see the sunlight reflected off the castle windows now behind them, illuminating some stained-glass paintings he had no idea existed before. “My cousin Bifur does Dragon breeding in Moira. What if we sent Cinders to him?”  
  
“Would he want to come all this way?” Bilbo wondered aloud.  
  
“I’ll ask him.”  
  
Once they reached the hut, their conversation had switched subjects to that of summertime. Bilbo knew that ultimately, he would have to return to the house underneath the hill in Hobbiton where his aunt lived, and was not keen about it. Bofur told Bilbo he would be most likely returning to Ered Luin, but planned to have his parents visit him and his brother. Apparently, Dís and Kovur had been friends in their youth, and Dís had offered to care for Kovur and Tarvem’s sons when they had to leave to Moira.  
  
“It’s not that far away.” Bofur explained. “They needed to go. Bifur…well, it’s not important. Someday I want to see his Dragons.”  
  
It felt nice to be able to speak with his friends about regular things, Bilbo thought. He hadn’t gotten too much time to ask Bofur and Ori anything since the Arkenstone became an issue. He’d have to ask Ori where he’d been going for the summer.  
  
Bilbo went to knock on the door of the hut, but found that it was already open. Ori stood in the crack of the doorway, Beorn behind him, holding Cinders, who had grown a foot since they saw last. The baby Dragon was coughing up puffs of smoke, and Beorn’s hair looked to have been ignited with flame. “What’re you two doing here?” he said, moving to close the door, but Ori held it open.  
  
“I was just about to come and get you both.” Ori told Bilbo and Bofur, who were now especially confused. “Bofur, would you please tell Beorn that Cinders isn’t safe here?”  
  
“Funny enough, we were just talking about that.” Bofur stepped inside, pushing past Ori. “Hello, Beorn. Hi, Cinders.”  
  
“Don’t greet it!” Ori exclaimed. He and Beorn seemed to be in a spat, judging by the glare in Beorn’s eyes focused on the back of Ori’s head. Bilbo still stood outside, looking in as Bofur stepped around what seemed to be a pile of chicken feathers on the ground.  
  
“It’s not dangerous.” Beorn stated, as Cinders coughed yet another cloud of smoke from it’s mouth. “Just needs training.”  
  
“I had an idea.” Bofur told him. “My cousin, Bifur, keeps Dragons, y’know? And Bilbo thought-”  
  
“I didn’t exactly come up with it.” Bilbo protested, not wanting to get on Beorn’s worse side, especially when he was debating over a Dragon.  
  
“Yes, well, but we both thought, see, I’d write to him. Ask if he’d be willing to take Cinders off your hands here.” Bofur explained. But Beorn clutched the Dragon like a young Hobbit would clutch a stuffed sack.  
  
“I can’t let you. It’s only a baby.” Beorn protested. Ori sighed louder than necessary.  
  
“It’s dangerous, Beorn!” he exclaimed shortly. “I keep telling you that it’ll burn down the house and the forest and hurt you!”  
  
Cinders coughed out a full flame this time. “Listen. I’m older than all of you combined, you hear?” Beorn said. “I think I can well decide what’s best for the things I take care of, what my job has been for at least a decade. If you don’t remember it, I’m not one of your mates. I’m a teacher.” He shooed Bofur and Ori with his one free hand. “Now go back. Write to your cousin if you want, but it won’t be happening.”  
  
All three boys reluctantly left the hut, and the door slammed shut behind him. Ori let out a groan, much more frustrated than anyone had likely ever seen him be. “Oh, he just doesn’t know! He’s a teacher, yes, but that doesn’t mean he knows everything! You agree with me, right?” he turned to Bilbo and Bofur, who hurriedly nodded. “Write to him. Send it as quickly as possible. I won’t come back down here unless that thing is gone.” And with that, Ori stormed off in a manner much unlike the studious and know-better Dwarf they knew him as.  
  
Bilbo and Bofur both watched him go. “He’s right, I think I’ve had enough of that Dragon.” Bilbo said as they heard Cinders coughing madly, most likely setting fire to Beorn’s matted head of hair. 

  


“How do you say ‘Dragon’ again?”  
  
“Uslukh. With a k, not a c.”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur had spent the rest of the weekend penning a letter to Bifur, which Bilbo had almost sent before Bofur informed him his cousin was more prone to reading Khuzdul rather than Allspeak. Bilbo complained for most of the translating ordeal, but it was finished by the time Monday came. The two sent it with Mithril on a long journey to Moira. The boys were not expecting an answer until much later, so they put the matter aside. Besides, they had already forgotten to do the Herbology experiment.  
  
When Bilbo explained to Professor Hilda how he could not complete it (for he was becoming quite remarkable in fibbing), he saw Godelina growing pale in the corner of his eye. Hilda was not true to her supposed word; for Bilbo’s only punishment was an extra week of experimenting. He’d have to make up half his answers, something that couldn’t be too hard, anyway.  
  
“I can’t believe you’d lie to me!” Godelina whacked Bofur with her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi once they began to exit the garden and greenhouse. “You said you’d finished it. Now she’s going to make us do the exam next month!”  
  
Aldreda pried the book away from her friend. “Sorry, she’s just upset. Her marks in Herbology-”  
  
But Godelina shushed her, leaving Aldreda to giggle, and Bofur to shake his head in confusion. “I never understood Humans.” he said to Bilbo, as he thought he saw Aldreda kiss her friend on the forehead.  
  
As the first-years made their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, Bilbo noticed that the staircase to the third-floor corridor was connected. He shivered looking at the darkened doorway, rotted and aging compared to the rest of the stairwell. Hopefully it was not Thranduil who had gone behind that door any time in the near past.  
  
“So you’re sure Gandalf believed you?” Bofur whispered as Bilbo tore his eyes away from the door.  
  
“I’m mostly sure. He listened to me, at the least.” Bilbo responded. To admit it, he’d been especially shocked to see how calmly Gandalf had listened to his accusations. Up until the moment, he’d been sure that the headmaster would have laughed throughout the telling.  
  
“Glad to have that one off our backs.” Bofur turned the corner to where the classroom was located. “I was afraid we’d have to catch him ourselves.”  
  
Indeed, it was relieving. But Bilbo still worried about many things involving the stone business. How long would it be kept in the school for? Someone would eventually try and steal it again, if not Thranduil. Eventually it would have to leave, wouldn’t it? The effects would make someone mad over it. And the Dragon guarding the trapdoor, what would happen to that? Bilbo had no control over any of it. But that made him worry all the more.  
  
“Are you alright?” Bofur interrupted his thoughts. “You’ve gone pale.”  
  
Bilbo shook himself. “No, I’m alright. Just lost in thought.”  
  
As the boys reached the classroom, they heard rushing footsteps from behind them. Bilbo jumped as he turned from the door to see Fili and Kili running straight for them. The elder brother had dirt all over his school robes, so much so that Bilbo could no longer see the Gryffindor house crest sewed on. Both boys were huffing, slowing as Bilbo moved out of their way, and Kili nearly crashing into the stone wall.  
  
“What’s with you?” Bofur asked them, staring at the third-years who were now leaning against the wall.  
  
“Professor…professor Elrond…” Kili puffed out, as if he’d just run all the way from Dale. “He saw us…behind the pitch…”  
  
“We were trying to set off the fireworks.” Fili explained. “But they don’t work very well yet. One of them went off as Elrond was passing us. It was scary.”  
  
“Scary? That was terrifying.” Kili exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a teacher that angry. There were spells flying everywhere. Don’t think he knew it was us.”  
  
“You were setting off fireworks?” Bilbo asked to clarify. “Why did you come all the way here?”  
  
Kili stood off the wall. He regained his breath, and shook snow off his boot. “We were going to ask you for help. We’re trying them on the lake next.”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur looked at each other, then at the brothers. “You wanted us to help you with fireworks?” Bofur asked them. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
“Incredibly.” Fili said. “We need lookouts after that incident just now.”  
  
Bilbo was sure that class had started by now. Yet here he was, standing only inches from the classroom door, being asked to skip class and watch for professors while Fili and Kili set off fireworks. “We can’t, we’ve got class.” Bilbo told them.  
  
“Oh, come on, it’s not much you’re missing.” Kili said. “I’ll do homework for you.”  
  
“No you won’t.” Bofur said. “But we’ll come anyway.”  
  
“We will?” Bilbo asked confusedly. But he had no time to protest, because soon enough, Fili and Kili were taking him by the arm and leading him back through the stairwell.  
  
“Oakenshield’s going to kill us.” Bofur whispered as the four went silently out of the castle. “Actually, forget him, Ori’s going to kill us.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. Someone was bound to notice that they weren’t there. He wished he’d brought his ring. Then they may have a better change of not being caught by Elrond again.  
  
“Where’re we going?” Bofur asked once they’d gotten out of the castle. Bilbo was lucky to be wearing heavy clothes from outdoor Herbology still.  
  
“On the lake.” Fili replied.  
  
“Couldn’t we have just taken the passage?” Bofur suggested. Quia of the Sea, a Sphinx-Charmed Portrait of a Mermaid, resided outside the fifth floor, and lead down to the boathouse as Bilbo knew, seeing as he had once taken it by accident. Quia had tricked him over the winter into thinking her passage lead to the kitchen, and when he’d arrived in the saltwater scented boathouse, he’d found himself on a very long trek back.  
  
But it was likely Bilbo and Bofur were part of a few, if not the only students who knew about the secret passageways, seeing as how Fili looked puzzled when Bofur suggested this.  
  
The lake that just a few months ago had carried Bilbo towards Hogwarts on a boat, had been frozen over. Snow piled atop the ice, so thick that it took the four boys an enormous effort to even walk a few steps. Clearing a path as they went, Bilbo felt a sense of familiarity, like he’d been on the lake before. This was an odd thing to feel familiar about, seeing as he had never been on a frozen lake before. The view of the castle was just as stunning as it had been in the fall. Though it was not as lit up as it had been in the night he last saw the whole landscape, it had a calming sort of feeling to it.  
  
“Keep up, then.” Fili said, taking out orange firecrackers from his coat. “You stay there, Bilbo. Don’t let anyone come near.”  
  
“Why would anyone come onto the lake?” Bofur was still trudging through the snow. “It’s freezing out here!”  
  
But neither of the brothers answered him. “Now see, this is how a true Durin works.” Kili took out his wand, and began waving it over the firecracker. “Muffliato.” he whispered.  
  
“Dís was wondering when you’d be doing something interesting.” Bofur said. “I think she called it your shenanigans.”  
  
“Funny-sounding word.” Bilbo thought to himself. “You’re not actually going to set them off, are you?” he called to the brothers.  
  
“Why else would we be here?” Kili finished waving his wand. “Fili, a light, please.”  
  
Fili took his wand from his sleeve. “Incendio.” he pronounced, and a flicker of flame came out of the tip. He moved it to the end of the firecracker. “Watch and learn, boys. Watch and learn.”  
  
The flame slowly moved its way up the string. Fili held it in his gloved hand, straightly in front of his face. The four boys watched in anticipation, Bilbo glancing around every now-and-then for sight of a teacher.  
  
“Did you light it the way he said to?” Kili whispered to his brother. Fili nodded, and held the firecracker a little further from his nose.  
  
“Any second now.” he said to Bilbo and Bofur. “You’re lucky, you get to see this before anyone else.”  
  
The flame was beginning to separate into sparks, and it got closer and closer to the firecracker. There was no sound, as all three were still watching it closely, nerves jumping at all of Bilbo’s sides. Then, without warning, the cracker flew straight into the air, making Fili jump backwards and fall into the snow. It shot upwards, faster than Bilbo’s eyes could see, and then, all of a sudden, it exploded into an array of colours - red, green, purples, blues - all in silence. Kili let out a yell of triumph as the fireworks went off, shooting sparks of colour in all directions.  
  
“Whoa.” Bofur said in astonishment. “It actually worked?”  
  
“See? That’s the masters at work.” Kili said proudly.  
  
“Don’t brag.” Fili’s muffled voice came from the snow.  
  
The Durin brothers continued setting off their No-Fire Fireworks, which, according to Fili, only became visible when you watched it first lit. Designs in all sorts of shapes and colours exploded in the daytime sky, just as neon as they would surely appear at night. Bilbo found himself letting go of any worries of teachers finding them, as they must have been down there for an hour when they reached the last firework.  
  
“Better save that for the eleventh.” Kili put the green cracker inside his coat. “Thanks, Bilbo. Sorry about the missed class.”  
  
“That was way better than listening to whatever Oakenshield had to say.” Bofur exclaimed as they began trekking back to the castle. “When’re you actually setting them off?”  
  
“For Gimli Glóinson’s birthday.” Kili replied. “Eight o’clock, by the lake, don’t be late if you don’t want to miss it.”  
  
“We’re planning on starting a business with them.” Fili explained once they’d reached the courtyard. “Sort of like an oddities shop back home. No-Fire Fireworks and Canary Creams and Puking Pastilles. I haven’t seen anyone else selling those.”  
  
“You should.” Bilbo agreed, thinking of the ways in which he could give trick candy to his aunt.  
  
Kili brushed the excess snow off his shoulder. “Problem is we haven’t got the money. There’s only so much gold in Gringotts, especially after Erebor.”  
  
Bilbo remembered seeing the Dwarves inside Gringotts during the summer again. “You could sell some here.” he suggested. “I know a few people who'd want Puking Pastilles for pranks.”  
  
“Speaking of which, I need five of those and a password to the Ravenclaw common room as fast as I can.” Bofur laughed.  
  
The four reached the castle doors and entered to see the Great Hall filled with students having their lunch. “Thanks again, boys.” Fili said. He gave a mock salute, and with that, the third-years bounced off to the common room.  
  
Ori sat across from Ruiwen, who was working on their Potions essay. “You missed Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Ori accused when the boys sat next to Ruiwen. “I hope it was for something important. We read three chapters on Skinchangers. ”  
  
“Oh, very important.” Bofur said, picking up a piece of meat from the tray gliding up and down the table. “Educational, too.”  
  
Bilbo stifled a laugh. It had truly been nice to have a break in the midst of everything, exam preparation and Arkenstones alike. 

  


A few days later, Bilbo awoke sharply to the sound of pecking. Mithril had returned, and was sitting outside the window with a letter in his beak. The sun had not even begun to rise, and yet Mithril had brought mail. Bilbo let his raven fly inside, and took the letter from the bird. Upon reading who it was addressed to (or rather not being able to read it, since it was written in Khuzdul), Bilbo felt himself wake up from his drowsy state. Bifur had returned their request.  
  
Once the rest of the common room woke, Bilbo handed it to Bofur, who broke it open at once as if it was a present on Durin’s Day. He read over the unfamiliar runes with excited eyes, not even bothering to change out of his bedclothes just yet. “He’s said yes!” he exclaimed.  
  
“What’d he say?” Bilbo asked, following Bofur as he put his school robes over his bedclothes.  
  
“I’ll tell you when we see Beorn.” Bofur replied, still clutching the letter. “He needs to know. Tell Ori’ we’ll go down at lunch.”  
  
Ori breathed a sigh of relief when Bilbo told him Bifur had written back to say yes. All three were sitting through Professor Angmar’s tales of the First Age lectures impatiently and Professor Hilda’s Mandrake lesson until lunch hour came, where instead of going towards the Great Hall, they headed through the courtyard and across the bridge, all the way down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Beorn resided with Cinders.  
  
“What did you three come for?” he asked upon opening the door. Cinders sat on the counter, no longer coughing up smoke, but Bilbo noticed how much it had grown in only a matter of days. Its tail was at least two inches longer from the last time he’d seen it, and it was no longer a sickly green but a strong forest colour.  
  
“My cousin wrote back.” Bofur informed him. “He says he’ll take Cinders to Moira with him.”  
  
Beorn raised his eyebrows. He opened the door to them. “Read me the letter.” he said once all three were sitting inside the hut, Ori positioned awkwardly next to Cinders.  
  
Bofur unfolded the parchment. “Just a rough translation, but he says this;  
  
‘To Bofur, Tarvem’s son.  
I’ve gotten your request for me to take a Dragon off your hands. Where’d you get a Dragon in Dale? I’d be alright with taking it, but you’ll have to wait a few days. A few of the Horntails have gotten free.  
Wherever your gamekeeper got the Ridgeback from most likely isn’t safe, so the exchange will have to be done at night. Take the Dragon to the tallest tower by midnight on Sunday, and me and Rotchek will come and get it.  
No need to write back for confirmation, I’m coming anyway. Have a good winter.  
  
Bifur, Sovur’s son, Dragon-Keeper of Moira.’ ”  
  
“So it’s settled, then.” Ori said. “We take Cinders to the Astronomy tower on Sunday, and it’ll be gone.”  
  
“Alright, Beorn?” Bilbo asked Beorn, who was looking at Cinders as if it was his first-born child. The Dragon smacked its tail on the counter, making Ori jump.  
  
“Alright.” Beorn sighed unhappily. “But it’s still so young.”  
  
“He’ll be safer in Moira than he’ll ever be here.” Bofur reassured him. But just as he did, Beorn’s eyes turned to the window. He jumped from his seat, striding over to the window, glaring.  
  
“What’s happened?” Bilbo asked, trying to get a glimpse of whatever had bothered Beorn.  
  
“Someone’s seen us.” Beorn muttered. “They’re running back up to the castle now.”  
  
Bilbo craned his neck to see a flash of blonde hair that was now very far away from them. His heartbeats quickened. He knew who it had been, and knew that it spelt trouble.  
  
Legolas had seen the Dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from april 5th: I'm so so sorry I've been neglecting this fic. As I said before, I've been a little more involved in other things for a while now. I'm just getting back on track with writing, and I should hope to have the next one up in about a week. Still, I hope you guys are enjoying it!


	20. Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! Again, so sorry to keep you guys waiting so long. I really want you to know I appreciate every single one of you who reads this fic. You guys keep me writing, cheesy as it sounds. Schedule's probably gonna start being more frequent now. I'd say every 10-20 days, just to be safe. I should hopefully wrap it up before June at the latest. Well, that's enough from me. Thanks again!

Now it was not one Elf Bilbo had to avoid, it was two. It had been too late for any of the four to catch him by the time he saw the Dragon, and if that had been so, the newest plan for Bifur to take Cinders to Moira would certainly be much more of a hassle. Legolas would speak to Thranduil, of whom Bilbo was already in bad business with, who would tell Professor Elrond, who would surely speak to Gandalf and have all three of them back home by the next day.  
  
Bofur swore ardently when Bilbo informed him that it had been Legolas spying on them. “That bloody Elf. And to think he’s been out of our hair for so long.” he grumbled as they approached the portrait of Engilbert Banks. “If he tells Elrond, I might just show him why he thinks Dwarves are brutes.”  
  
“The song of the sun is the oceans lament.” the boy inside the portrait squeaked.  
  
“Heat.” Ori answered, and the door swung open. It had only been mere hours since Beorn agreed to let Cinders go with Bifur, and already they were questioning the plan. If they were caught, no one could tell the amount of trouble they’d be in. It would have to be done very cautiously, under the obvious cover of nightfall and with Bilbo’s golden ring. “After Sunday, I never want to hear of another Dragon again.” Bilbo thought to himself frustratedly.  
  
“We’re still going.” Ori said determinedly. “I won’t let that Dragon stay here for another fortnight. I’m not even sure it should stay for another day.” He sighed. “I just want him to be safe. Beorn, that is.”  
  
“I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t go, I’m only saying that we might be taking more risks than originally thought.” Bilbo said as the three arrived in the library. “I want him to be safe, too. He’s already upset Cinders has to go. It’s best we do it without anyone else finding out.”  
  
“Poor guy.” Bofur sat down at a bench, moving aside a copy of The Road to the Fire, a book that seemed as if it had been thrown into a fire itself. “He’s already pretty lonely. I think Cinders was the only thing keeping him company.”  
  
“What makes you think that?” Ori asked, pulling open the door to the Transfiguration classroom. A sweep of warm air hit them as they entered, a few students inside already. While Transfiguration was normally had with the Ravenclaws, Ori had missed a class yesterday due to an unfortunate encounter with Gollum, the school’s poltergeist, and had gotten permission from Professor Elrond to attend Bilbo and Bofur’s class to make up for it. This gave the three another opportunity to discuss Cinders with each other, which would have been ideal if everything was going according to plan. But since they had been thrown off, all any of the three wanted to do was to get it over with, send Cinders to Moira, and return to regular schooling just in time for their end-of-year exams.  
  
“He lives in a hut on the edge of the grounds, Ori. If I had to live like that, I’d get lonely, I suppose.”  
  
Bilbo put his books down on his desk with a thud. “Well, at least we’re keeping him company. Better us than a fire-breathing Dragon, anyways.”  
  
A paper bird was floating over the classroom again. Godelina Greyfoot was taking requests from her friends as to what trick it should perform next. Many of the boys were attempting to hit it down from where they sat, each taking a try to snatch it out of the air with their own hands. As it floated over Ori’s head, a Ravenclaw boy thrust his hand forward to grab the tail, nearly smacking Ori on the side of his face.  
  
“You still have your ring, right?” Bofur asked Bilbo, who was fumbling around with his quill that seemed to be losing most of its feather.  
  
He nodded. The golden ring was still tucked away tightly in his bedside drawer, underneath a few socks and mittens. He hadn’t used it himself since the last time he'd tried to go to the secret room, and found Thorin and Thranduil arguing. He still thought about going back there, late at night to see his parents again, but every time before he could sum up the courage to go, he’d fall asleep. He was sure that once Cinders was gone and they were back to regular schedule, he’d return. It hadn’t exactly been at the top of his mind for a few weeks or so.  
  
But the ring stayed in his drawers, a perfectly normal place to stay, because he did not want it to be stolen at any time. It was a new door to exploring the castle, going places he wouldn’t have been able to if they could all be seen. If he lost it, not much would change likely, but he wouldn’t be able to find out much anymore. Besides, it had been one of the first ever presents given to him by someone. And something as valuable and useful as that ought to be cherished, right?  
  
As Bilbo stared around the room at all the students attempting to be the destroyer of Godelina’s paper bird, he caught sight of Legolas on the other side of the room. The Elf was speaking to someone Bilbo didn’t recognize, and his thoughts instantly went into a panic. What if he was telling them about Cinders? Worried thoughts began to spin around in his head. It was like the trapdoor all over again. He could only hope that, if Legolas was indeed telling others about Cinders, that he wouldn’t be believed.  
  
He must’ve stared too long, because Legolas quickly turned his eyes in Bilbo’s direction, as if he was an owl who’d spotted a mouse. He scowled at him, and Bilbo turned back to his desk quickly, not wanting to have any more interaction with him than that.  
  
Professor Elrond stood from his desk at the front of the room. Godelina’s bird, which had been in the midst of a chasing game with a rather broad Ravenclaw Elf, floated slowly back to her desk. Bilbo stopped fussing over his quill, and let it sit in the ink pot. Another piece of feather floated into the dark liquid below.  
  
“Good afternoon, class.” he said, silencing anyone left chatting with their friends. “I believe everyone has their wands out already.” The same students reached into their bags to take out their wands. “Good. Now, before we begin the lesson, I shall give you a reminder about the upcoming exams.”  
  
Bofur groaned under his breath. “Not again. The last thing I need is another reminder about how much I’m supposed to stress about them.”  
  
“You will not need to bring your wands to the examination in May.” Elrond continued. “There will only be a written test on your skills, not a practical one. Myself and Professor Gandalf have decided that, following last years set of first-year Transfiguration exams, there will be no need for it.”  
  
A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand. “Why, what happened last year?”  
  
“I heard that a first-year accidentally turned themselves yellow.” Taraneth answered for her. “My sister told me-”  
  
“Thank you, Miss Lossethien.” Elrond stopped her. “Nevertheless, we will not be having a practical examination this year. Now, take out your books.” As the class did this, Elrond paced over to a door on the far side of the room, and unlocked it. He entered and came out mere seconds later, holding a caged bird that was much too big to be native to this area. He took the bird and cage and placed it on his desk, all the students staring in interest.  
  
“Today, we will be transforming animals into water goblets.” he explained. “You will be using mice, but I shall demonstrate on a water bird.” He reached his wand in between the bars of the cage, and tapped the bird thrice. “Vera Verto.” he said, and the bird began to change its shape, until it was a perfectly clear dinner goblet, similar to ones found in the Great Hall, though empty instead of filled with pumpkin juice.  
  
“There are white mice on the shelf.” Elrond instructed them. “The incantation is Vera Verto, and you must tap your mouse three times in quick succession to do it properly. You have until the end of the period to finish, so begin.” Students began to get up from their chairs, as did Bilbo, pacing towards the far shelf and taking two thin white mice, one for him and the other for Bofur.  
  
Bofur shuddered when Bilbo placed it on his desk. “Looks too much like a rat.” he’d complained, moving its tail off of his wand. “Thinner and whiter, but rat-ish all the same.”  
  
Bombur sat to the other side of them, and had taken a rather fat mouse, which was now squirming around on his desk. “I don’t think this one likes me all too much.” he said, as he caught it in his hands as it tried to run away yet again.  
  
“Don’t worry, it won’t be a problem for too long.” Bilbo said, trying to remember what the spell was. “Um, do you remember how to do it?” he asked Bofur, who shrugged.  
  
Ori sighed. “It’s Vera Verto. I would’ve thought you’d be paying attention”  
  
“I was. It just sounded…vague.” Bofur said. He picked up his wand, and cleared his throat. “Vera…Vera Verto.” he uttered, and tapped the mouse a few times. Its shape changed rather slowly, its tail curling up and eyes disappearing until it resembled a rather furry wine glass.  
  
“Obviously something’s gone wrong.” Bofur concluded as it let out a series of squeaks, Ori and Bilbo both stifling their laughs.  
  
The rest of the class passed similarly. Bilbo made several attempts to turn his mouse into a drinking glass, and failed at most of them. When he eventually did succeed, it was only for a second, before the glass began to grow white hair on its stem. It was the same with Bofur and Bombur, the latter of which had his mouse run away halfway through his eighth attempt. Ori, of course, succeeded with only a few tries, and then went to work on the missed class’s lesson. He began to try turning a coat button into an acorn, which Bilbo had actually perfected before.  
  
Just before the class came to an end, there was a series of sudden shrieks from the other side of the room. All heads turned there instantaneously, to see Ruiwen standing atop their desk, staring down at the floor as if it was a hideous monster.  
  
Elrond rushed over to their side. “What’s happened?” he asked.  
  
They pointed to the ground in front of them. “Look!”  
  
Bilbo could not see, but as soon as they said it, everyone around began to laugh. Professor Elrond stooped down and picked up what appeared to be a half-mouse half-cup with the bowl of a wine glass for a head. He sighed, and Ruiwen stepped down from their desk awkwardly. “Class dismissed.” he said, tapping the hybrid three times and returning it to its mousey form.  
  
As Bilbo packed together his books and quill, he spotted Legolas again. He caught his stare again, and before he could look away he saw the smirk on the Elf’s face. Almost as if he was saying, ‘I know what you’re going to do’. It had trouble written over it. Bilbo rushed out of the room to catch up with his friends, before he nearly fainted from nerves. 

  


“Psst. Bilbo. Are you ready?”  
  
Bilbo awoke slowly to see Bofur leaning over him, hat and scarf on and lantern in hand. He had fallen asleep waiting for midnight in front of the fire in the common room, which had by now been put out. Sunday had come at last, and here they were, ready to leave for the Astronomy tower. Well, they were to make a few stops along the way obviously. The Hufflepuff common room firstly, to get Ori, and then down the Beorn’s hut for the real attraction, Cinders.  
  
The weekend had been dragged out as much as possible. Bilbo spent most of Sunday alone, wandering the grounds and doing anything to take his mind off things. On Saturday morning, he wandered down to the lake and sat there for at least an hour, watching the snow melt off trees and throwing breadcrumbs into the water. As he did, he remembered the ducks of Hobbiton, and how they always used to flock straight for him when he arrived at their pond. He was much younger then. And he was also sure that if anything lived at the surface of this lake, it certainly wasn’t ducks.   
  
During the afternoon, he transposed his Herbology results, most of which were stolen from Ori, and wandered the castle through portraits and pictures. His riddle-solving skills were getting quite exceptional since the start of the year, if he said so himself. He spied on a Slytherin game of Gobstones, and very nearly knocked over their wooden marbles on his way back inside. And during the evening, he sat in front of the fire, talking with Bofur, and staring into the golden flames inches from his face. Winter would be over soon, he reminded himself. Soon every day will be as warm as this. Somehow, he was looking forward to the summer, even though it meant leaving Hogwarts. He wouldn’t have to wear a bulky coat any more, and there’d be flowers in the valley below the bridge. All this time away from green grass had nearly made him forget what it looked like.  
  
But in this moment, late on Sunday night, Bilbo rubbed his eyes open and sat up. “Yes, I’m coming.” he mumbled, pulling on his coat and pushing himself off of the ground. He felt inside his pocket for the golden ring, and smiled as he clutched onto it. He slipped it on his finger and felt himself go invisible, Bofur jumping in quick surprise. “Here.” Bilbo said, putting his hand on Bofur’s shoulder and watching him disappear as well. “We’ve got to go quickly. Your cousin might be here by now.”  
  
“Wouldn’t count on it, he’s awfully good at being late.” Bofur mumbled, but followed Bilbo’s rushed steps nevertheless. They tiptoed out of the common room, careful not to wake the warrior portrait as she snoozed in the middle of the battlefield, Bofur’s lamp the only thing left visible. Outside the windows, stars twinkled blue and silver against a dark sky. If he looked close enough, Bilbo thought he could see a few of the constellations Professor Angmar had been teaching them about (though their names were lost on him). Perhaps the view would be better once they were on the astronomy tower. It was, after all, used for looking at stars for a reason.  
  
The boys passed hundreds of paintings, all inhabitants fast asleep, save the few drunken Dwarves on the fourth floor landing who raised a few glasses and cheered when Bofur coughed. Once they were on the first floor, Bilbo slipped the ring off of his finger and watched him and his friend reappear. “Now all we have to do is-”  
  
“Wait for me?” came a muffled voice from inside a broom closet, making Bofur and Bilbo jump. The door creaked open and Ori stumbled out, hair covered by cobwebs and dust. “I didn’t know when you’d get here. I thought I might just wait for you instead.”  
  
“How long were you…never mind.” Bofur said, and tugged Bilbo towards the door. “C’mon. We haven’t got time to lose.”  
  
Slipping on the golden ring yet again, the now three ran across the courtyard and down across the wooden bridge. The nights were colder than the days in February, and for once Bilbo was wishing his feet would fit into a pair of shoes. As they passed over the valley, he was disappointed to see that there was mainly darkness draping over it in the starlight, unable to be seen in the late hour. It had always been the little things about Hogwarts that interested Bilbo the most; the passageways, the ghosts, the nature, anything he could admire.  
  
He supposed it was the Hobbit in him, the kind that like to collect buttons and grow flowers. To think that he was caught up in all this mystery and adventure was almost unthinkable once it had started, but the sensation of being overwhelmed had since become commonplace. That was why he enjoyed the little things, really. They reminded him that while he might be facing a fire-breathing Dragon or an ancient and powerful stone, trees would still grow in the valley below the wooden bridge.  
  
Being careful so as to not trip on their way down, the three boys reached Beorn’s hut at last. Bilbo slipped off the ring, and knocked thrice on the door. It took a few seconds to open, and when it did, Beorn stood tall behind it. His face fell at the sight of them. “Oh. You three. Come in.”  
  
Cinders was, surprisingly, already set to leave. Beorn had placed it in a large basket, complete with a shredded blanket and some blood red meat. Cinders himself was scratching at the sides like it was a sharpener for claws. “Lucky it can’t fly yet.” Ori whispered to Bilbo, the both of them staring at it.  
  
“I was out in the forest this morning.” Beorn told them, picking up a rather large jug and taking a few gulps. “Those traps we put out before the solstice didn’t last.”  
  
“Gryphons?” Bilbo asked, remembering that morning in December. Beorn nodded, taking another gulp of his drink.  
  
“Whole herd of them. Judging by the lack of meat, they were there last month. So I set up a couple more.” Cinders coughed up a tiny flame, making Ori jump. “As I was nailing the meat onto the trees, I hear a sound. Like the sound a cabinet makes when you knock on it. The tree was hollow. So I reached in, and I found this.” Beorn reached into his coat pocket, digging around for a few seconds before pulling out a wooden box. Bilbo peered at it closely, looking at the markings surrounding it. They weren’t any runes he recognized, but they certainly weren’t a simple pattern. The box itself was beaten up and scratched, yet not rotted, strangely.  
  
“What’s inside?” Bofur asked this time. Beorn shrugged his shoulders.  
  
“Tried to open it. Couldn’t.” he explained. “Even my axe couldn’t do it. I suppose whoever hid it there doesn’t want it opened by anyone else but themselves.”  
  
Bilbo shivered. Something about the box gave him an uneasy sensation.  
  
“You know, I would have preferred to meet this Bifur in person.” Beorn said, switching the subject and placing the box back inside his coat. “See just exactly who’s going to be in charge of Cinders for the rest of his life.”  
  
“Don’t worry, my cousin’s got loads of Dragons.” Bofur said. “There’s even a few Horntails down there. Ridgebacks are pretty boring, honestly, it won’t be a-”  
  
“I think we should get going.” Bilbo interrupted, attempting to grab the handle of Cinders’s basket and avoid getting his fingers taken off. “It’s, um, late already.” He grabbed ahold of the basket and nearly swung it off the table. It breathed a puff of smoke in Beorn’s direction, which he took as a farewell gesture.  
  
“Take good care of him, okay?” Beorn asked, and Bilbo nodded. Ori pushed open the hut door, and they entered the night yet again.  
  
“Great, now I feel like a monster.” Bofur sighed once the door was closed. Cinders puffed another breath of smoke, coughing up little flames along with it.  
  
“Let’s go.” Ori said, and nodded to Bilbo. He took it as his cue to turn invisible, and so slipped on the golden ring for the third time that night. They made their way back across the bridge, and towards the other entrance to the school, which lead to a few classrooms they weren’t allowed into just yet. Up the marble staircase in that hallway, then towards another, and yet another; Bilbo tried to look for any Sphinx-Charmed Portraits but to no avail; Cinders continued to cough and squeal, Ori shushing it every time it did so.  
  
Bofur let go and reappeared a few times on their way, and so did Ori and Cinders, but there was no one there to catch them. Bilbo was used to making his way up to the Astronomy tower late at night for their Astronomy lessons, so he wasn’t as lost as he might have been, but it took them at least ten minutes to reach the final staircase. As Bilbo climbed up ahead, there came a sudden sound from behind. All three boys stopped, dead in their tracks.  
  
“What was that?” Ori whispered in a panic. Everyone went completely silent, staring at the hallway which they had just exited. Bilbo held his breath as two figures suddenly appeared at the bottom of it, the tall one appearing to be dragging the smaller one by the arm. They marched quickly down the hall, the shorter one trying to pull back to no avail.  
  
“But Professor, you don’t understand!” a familiar voice protested. “Bilbo Baggins is going to be here! He’s taking a Dragon!”  
  
A small white light flared from the tip of Professor Elrond’s wand. He had a tight grip on Legolas’s arm, who seemed to be looking directly at where Bilbo and the others stood, unknowing that he was actually there. Bilbo couldn’t help but smirk; so his suspicions had been right. Legolas heard everything they said. But he’d been caught, and to see Professor Elrond glaring down at the one student he simply couldn’t stand was a highlight, if anything.  
  
“Ridiculous. Fifty points from Ravenclaw.” Elrond stated. “How dare you lie to a professor. I will be seeing Professor Thranduil about this.” And with that, the two continued down the hall, Legolas’s protests becoming lost as he was pulled out of view.  
  
“Well, that was a pleasant surprise.” Bofur said at last, after the three stood in silence for another minute, just to be safe. Cinders coughed yet again, bringing Bilbo back to his senses. “Let’s go.”  
  
They climbed the spiral staircase up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, quickening their pace so as to not risk being caught again. Bilbo was the first to reach the top. He took the golden ring off his finger, and saw his hands reappear. The stars were even closer now than they were ever from the staircase, and he would have almost stopped in awe, if it weren’t for the five figures standing on the other side of the tower, who had now caught his gaze.  
  
Bofur ran towards them once he got up the stairs, embracing the tallest of the lot, although he was much shorter. Bilbo could only assume that he had not seen his cousin in a long time, seeing as how quickly they began talking in Khuzdul and lost Bilbo completely.  
  
“Good evening.” another one said, in a gruff voice. “Are you Bilbo Baggins?”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “That’s me, last I checked.”  
  
One of the Dwarves whispered to another something illegible, staring at Bilbo, who was much shorter than all of them. “Such an honour, Mr Baggins.” a Dwarf carrying twin axes said expressively. “My name is Dwalin Fundinson.” It had been such a long time since anyone had brought up Bilbo’s infamy, he’d almost forgotten it existed.  
  
The Dwarves all introduced themselves in succession to each other, and a few shook Bilbo’s hand. “Strange to be back at Hogwarts” a Dwarf named Glalam said, staring at the sets of telescopes on the wall. “Last I was here they didn’t have railings. They just trusted us kids to not go jumping around the edges. ‘Course, some kids were actually that stupid…” she joked.  
  
Bofur was still in deep conversation with Bifur when Dwalin called the older Dwarf over, Ori struggling to hold Cinders in the basket.  
  
“This is the Ridgeback?” Bifur asked, his voice low yet soft, almost as if he hadn’t spoken in ages. One of the first things Bilbo noticed about him was the oddly placed axe embedded into his forehead, and made him wonder what had happen to get it there. “It’s small.”  
  
“Beorn wanted to make sure you took good care of it.” Ori said, handing the basket over and shocking Bilbo in what he said. “He cared a lot about it.”  
  
Bifur nodded, looking at Cinders with an interested expression. “How did you get this Dragon?” he asked.  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Says he got it in Dale. Beorn did, that is.”  
  
Bifur looked confused. He continued staring at Cinders, who was flapping his wings excitedly. “Odd. And he kept it?”  
  
Ori nodded. “For a long time.”  
  
Bifur nodded slowly, looking over Cinders now as if he was a medic. The other Dwarves stood off to the side, conversing in Khuzdul, only Fundinson listening to Bifur. Finally, he spoke again. “This Dragon is sick. It’s supposed to be flying by this size. And it should have grown its third talons by now.” He sighed. “Not Beorn’s fault. It must’ve been rotten from the egg.”  
  
Bilbo felt his heart sink, if only by a little. He had thought Cinders was growing properly all this time. What did he know about Dragons, anyway? He should consider himself lucky that Cinders was sick, and not flying by now. “We’re sorry, we didn’t know-” he found himself explaining, but was cut off by Dwalin taking the basket from Bifur.  
  
“Aye, not a problem.” he said. “You see worse with the Fireballs. What’s the thing’s name?”  
  
“Cinders.” Ori informed him. They all seemed to have grown a motherly instinct for Cinders in the past five minutes.  
  
Dwalin nodded. “Cinders.” he repeated. “Well, we’d better be off. Maitason!” he called to Bifur, who was speaking with Bofur once more. “Let’s go before the sun comes up already.”  
  
Bifur said something back in Khuzdul, and let Bofur hug him once more. The five went back to where their broomsticks hovered above the ground, Dwalin climbing on with Cinders in tow. The night was still dark and the stars were still beautiful. Bilbo wished he could stay up here for just a while longer, let Bofur speak with his cousin for longer before they left. But he said nothing. Instead, he called out “Thank you, sir!” like the respectable Hobbit he was, and watched as the Dwarves waved back.  
  
“Any time, Mr Baggins.” Dwalin said back. Cinders coughed up smoke once more for good measure, and with that the Dwarves began to leave on their broomsticks.  
  
“Gamut nanun!” Bofur called out as they disappeared into the night. Further and further they went, Cinders disappearing further from their view and their lives with every second, until they could no longer distinguish them out of the night sky.  
  
Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori all stood in silence for a while, not having anything to do. At last, that trouble was gone. They could return to their dorms and pretend as if they had never gone out tonight, and no one would ever know. After a while of standing in silence, Bofur broke it. “It was nice to see him.” he said quietly. Then he turned towards the staircase. “Let’s get back before Elrond does.”  
  
Quickly running down the spiral staircase again, Bilbo felt as if he was forgetting something. His thoughts stopped when he thought they’d left behind Cinders, but quickly remembered the Dragon was gone. Worry was free from his mind as the three went back down the long hallway and a few more staircases. Everything had gone perfectly right. What could go wrong now?  
  
Unfortunately, he asked that question too soon. Rounding the last corner before the doorway, Ori stopped dead in his tracks. Bilbo nearly ran into him as he stood still, Bofur letting out a gasp of surprise. Looming above the three was Radagast, the school caretaker, large grey hare at his feet and a smile on his face.  
  
“Well.” he said. “We are in trouble now, aren’t we?”  
  
A feeling of dread washed over Bilbo as he reached into his pocket. His heart sank. The golden ring was no longer inside.


	21. The Forest at Night

He had dropped it. After all that time, and all that planning, just after they thought they’d done everything right, he’d dropped the ring. How could he have forgotten such a crucial detail? He was mentally kicking himself the whole time as Radagast walked the three of them down to Professor Elrond’s office. Surely they were cornered now. A feeling of dread washed over him as he imagined the look on his aunt’s face when she saw him back on her doorstep, four months before he was supposed to be back. He might as well just forget about ever coming back now.  
  
He was desperately thinking of excuses as they entered the study, but his train of thought halted when he saw Legolas, already sitting in a chair across from Elrond’s desk. He jumped to his feet at the sight of them. “See, professor?” he said. “I told you Bilbo Baggins was going out! I told you!”  
  
Bilbo could see Bofur out of the corner of his eye rolling up his sleeves, but Elrond interrupted Legolas before anything could happen. “That’s quite enough, Greenleaf. You three.” he motioned to Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori, all of whom were in varying states of shock. “Sit.” Elrond waved his wand, and a purple sofa couch came off of the wall and caught the three of them into sitting down. “Radagast, thank you. You are free to go.”  
  
The caretaker smiled at Elrond, waving his dirty hand in his direction, and scampered away. As he went back down the hallway Bilbo could hear him muttering to himself about what the old punishment for students out of bed used to be, and from what he could hear, they weren’t exactly preferable.  
  
Elrond sighed, the kind of sigh that Bilbo only heard when he knew he most certainly was in trouble. “I am shocked at the four of you. Do you have any idea what time it is? What were you thinking?”  
  
No one spoke. Bilbo could see Ori trembling in his seat. He must not be accustomed to being unable to answer a question from a teacher.  
  
“Well?” Elrond continued when there was still no answer. “Do you expect me to believe Mr Greenleaf’s story, about you having a Dragon with you? Or would you like to give me a reasonable explanation?”  
  
Again, there was no answer. Bilbo knew it was useless to try an excuse. Elrond would surely see straight through it. If only he could tell the truth, without getting into extra trouble for their - no, his actions. Bofur and Ori shouldn’t be here at all. He didn’t have to to make them come with him. Since the beginning of the year, he’d been telling them not to follow him, that it was better if they minded their own business, and simply let him deal with everything alone. He supposed that was the downside of having friends - they’d follow you wherever you went, no matter how much it cost them.  
  
Elrond sighed again. “It is nearly one o’clock in the morning, and I am still waiting for an answer. I won’t wait all night.”  
  
“Sir.” Bofur began to speak up, his voice hushed and high-pitched. “We’re sorry, we really are. It was…it was my cousin, see, he came to visit me, and-”  
  
“We offered to go with him.” Bilbo added in, catching onto the half-truth Bofur was telling. “Since the castle is easy to get lost in, especially at night.”  
  
“I think that might be why Legolas thought we had a Dragon.” Bofur continued, raising his eyebrow at Legolas, who was at a loss for words. “See, because Bifur breeds Dragons, so he probably heard us saying that-”  
  
“Thank you.” Elrond waved his hand, and Bofur stopped talking. “While I understand that you wished to see your cousin, I find it utterly ridiculous that you had to be there at midnight on the astronomy tower, of all places. If you are lying to me, I will know.”  
  
Bilbo shook his head wildly. “No, sir, not a lie at all. Ori can tell you.” he said, hoping that Ori would, indeed, go along.  
  
Ori hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the office. He’d been staring endlessly outside the window, where there were more clouds than stars visible. Now everyone’s eyes were on him. Bilbo crossed his fingers that he would say yes. To his relief, Ori nodded slowly.  
  
“He was there.” he said in a much more timid voice than Bilbo had ever heard from him. “Bilbo’s not lying.”  
  
Legolas seemed to be ready to explode. But before he could, Elrond spoke again. “Thank you, Glorison. However, a friendly intention does not excuse the breaking of school rules. All four of you were out of bed after hours, and so all four of you will have fifty points deducted, and serve a detention next week in the forest.” “The forest? The forbidden forest?” Bilbo asked, shocked. He had absolutely no intention of ever returning into the forbidden forest after the last time he was there, especially with Legolas with them. What would happen to him? Students surely weren’t allowed into the forest on a regular basis. This must be an extreme punishment, for what they’d done.  
  
“Yes, Mr Baggins. Unless you can see another forest around Hogwarts, that is the one you’ll be having your detention in.” Elrond said.  
  
“But you can’t!” Bofur protested. “That’s not-”  
  
“Do not tell me how to do my job, Mr Tarvemson. I can do that perfectly fine on my own.” He waved his hand again. “Now, it’s late. Go back to your dormitories, and do not go anywhere else.”  
  
As Bilbo stood up to leave, Legolas pushed past him, a glare in his eye. “You wait until I tell my father about this.” he spat, and stormed out of the room.  
  
And so they left back to their dorms, Gryffindor a hundred points lower, and Ori shaking in his boots. No one said anything as they went back, and as soon as Bilbo got to the Gryffindor common room (muttering a muffled ‘sugar plum’ to the warrior portrait), he rushed up to his bed and laid underneath the covers. Once morning came, he’d have to explain himself to Beorn, and how Cinders was gone, but they’d been caught.  
  
As he tossed and turned in his attempts at sleep, he found himself worrying the most about the golden ring. How would he ever get it back now? Would he ever? The first proper gift he’d ever been given, and he’d gone and lost it. It had been one of the worst endings to a night he’d had since he’d arrived at Hogwarts. And now he had one more thing to worry about: their detention in the forest. In all truth, he simply wanted to sleep until June, and let nothing else ever bother him again. 

  


The next morning, Bilbo received a letter at breakfast. As Bofur handed it to him, he yawned into his mouthful of porridge. He was tired, much too tired to be doing anything at all, really. Sleep had evaded him last night, as he’d been kept up worrying about the ring and his upcoming detention. Now he wouldn’t be able to make up for the night for a whole week. Who had the idea to send Cinders off on a Sunday night in the first place?  
  
“Beorn sent it.” Bofur said, stroking Bilbo’s Raven, Mithril.  
  
Bilbo groaned. He didn’t want to have to face Beorn with this situation. Beorn had expressed his distrust already. The last thing Bilbo needed was having another teacher against him, even if it was the very first person who’d ever treated him with kindness.  
  
“To Bilbo, Gryffindor House.  
How did the sendoff go? Was Cinders alright? If you have time, come visit me after your classes. I’d like to know.  
Beorn, groundskeeper at Hogwarts Castle.  
P.S, the new traps are still holding up. Just thought you’d like to know.”  
  
Bilbo took out his quill from his bag. “I’ll just write him back.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, you know.” Bofur reassured him as Mithril cawed. “Besides, it’s not even that big a matter. It’s only detention. Not like we’re suspended at all.”  
  
“I know.” Bilbo said, dipping the quill in a pot of ink left out by Godelina. “It’s just that we could have avoided it if I had the ring.”  
  
“It’ll come back, don’t worry.” Bofur said. “Stuff we lose has a bad habit of coming back around. That’s what Dís always says.”  
  
“I hope she’s right.” Bilbo yawned, and penned his quick response to Beorn. It wasn’t that he was afraid of facing him, it was more that he didn’t want to let him down. He must be already heartbroken now that Cinders is gone, Bilbo thought to himself. He’d surely be upset that they had gotten in trouble as well. “Well, at least no one else knows what happened.”  
  
Just as he folded the paper up and stuffed it back into the envelope, he felt a hand on the back of his shoulder. Two of them, actually. “Hey Bilbo.” Kili said, slapping him on the same shoulder. “How’re you doing?”  
  
“Probably not too well, Kee, now that they’ve got detention in the forest.” Fili said, and Bilbo felt himself turn beet red.  
  
“Wh-what are you talking about?” he tried to stammer. The brothers looked at each other for a moment, each with a disbelieving look in their eye.  
  
“We know.” Fili said passively. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“I mean, what you did was pretty stupid.” Kili said, sitting down next to Bofur, who was trying to avoid him by staring intensely at a green apple. “But it sounded pretty great! Three first-years, navigating the castle at night and somehow managing to get all the way up the astronomy tower without being caught - if you battled a Orc, it might’ve been legend-worthy.”  
  
Bofur pushed him away. “Don’t.” he said. “Can’t you see he’s upset?”  
  
It took Bilbo a few seconds to realize Bofur was talking about him. “I’m not upset.” he tried to dispel.  
  
“Sure. Don’t worry about it, like I said.” Fili told him. “Detention won’t be that bad. Elrond wouldn’t actually send you three into the forest for getting out of bed.”  
  
“Four.” Bofur corrected him. “Legolas was dull enough to actually follow us.”  
  
Kili laughed, then covered his mouth as a few Hufflepuffs turned their heads his way. “Why were you up there, anyway?”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur glanced at each other. Surely, they couldn’t tell them. “We were, uh…none of your business, that’s why.” Bofur said, returning to his fascination with the apple.  
  
Kili shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself. We’ve got Creatures next. What do you think Beorn’ll set on us this time, a Hippogriff or a Bear?”  
  
“My guess is the Bear.” Fili said. “Well, we’re off. See you at the fireworks show Wednesday!” And then they ran off, out of the Great Hall without even taking any food for themselves.  
  
“Oh, right, I’d forgotten about that.” Bilbo said. “Should we still…?”  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Might. Might not. Depends if we should take the risk.”  
  
“You won’t have to.” came Ori’s voice, making Bilbo jump.  
  
“People really should stop sneaking up on me.” he thought to himself. “It’s quite rude.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” he asked Ori, but instead Ori shoved a letter at him. Bilbo undid the envelope, taking out a rather fancy piece of parchment, and reading.  
  
“To Messrs Baggins, Tarvemson, Glorison, and Greenleaf;  
Your detention will occur this Wednesday the eleventh. Please come down to the forest for ten o’clock, and no later. Dress warmly and carry a lantern each.  
Professor Beorn will be accompanying you into the forest, so do not be late. He has important business to take care of.  
Regards,  
Professor Elrond, member of the Wizengamot, professor at Hogwarts school for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”  
  
Bilbo looked down at the page. Somehow, he felt even worse now than he had when he’d woken up. Silently, he handed the opened envelope back to Ori, and they all seemed to decide it was best to simply get to class.  
  
As Bilbo walked out of the Great Hall, he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his forehead. Strange, especially since he hadn’t had one in so long. What he also felt was a pair of eyes on the back of his head, which made him slightly more uncomfortable. He looked over his shoulder, and saw no one other than Professor Thranduil, speaking to Professor Oakenshield. Suddenly, Thranduil looked up from his conversation, and Bilbo’s scar flamed up once more. He quickly turned back around, and followed his friends outside.

  


On Wednesday evening, Bilbo got out a pair of wool mittens. It took him a minute to remember that he didn’t to take them out, since there was no ring hidden beneath them. He took the mittens anyway.  
  
It was almost ten o’clock, and Bilbo and Bofur were both just getting ready to go out. In all honesty, he was terrified. The last time he’d been in the forest had been this past winter, and that had been during the day. Even Beorn had told them that the forest was far more dangerous at night. If he wouldn’t take them then, why now? Elrond had said he was accompanying them, which meant they could not avoid the conversation on why, exactly, they were serving the detention in the first place. And with Legolas there with them, he wasn’t sure if he could tell the truth to anyone.  
  
“You ready?” Bofur asked, slipping on his hat. Bilbo nodded.  
  
“Oddly enough, the last time you asked that, we were doing the thing that got us into this trouble.” he remarked.  
  
They made their way down the stairs to the common room, completely visible without Bilbo’s ring to cover themselves. He wished they had it as they snuck past the couple snogging in the corner, who scoffed at their interrupting. Bilbo pushed open the door, and was immediately met with the rather miffed voice of the warrior portrait.  
  
“What are you doing going outside at this hour?” she asked, almost as if offended by their late-evening trek. Bilbo chuckled a little to himself as he thought of all the other times they’d snuck out without her knowing. “Do you have any idea what time it is? And on a school night, too! Students as young as yourselves should be in bed!”  
  
“We’ve got to go out, Professor Elrond’s waiting for us.” Bilbo sighed.  
  
“Elrond?” the warrior sounded surprised. “What’s he wanting from you two?”  
  
“Detention.” Bilbo said, and at this, the portrait began to rant once more.  
  
“A detention? From students of my house? Inexcusable! What did you do? Oh, if my family could see the state of students today - they’d have your head back in my day.” she shouted at them.  
  
“Did you even go to school?” Bofur asked her, interrupting.  
  
The warrior paused. She thought about it for a moment or two. “No.” was her answer. “But they’d have your head nevertheless!”  
  
Bilbo pushed on the door. “Just let us out, please. We won’t be going again.”  
  
She sighed, and let herself swing open to let them pass. “I certainly hope it was for a noble reason, at the least.”  
  
“I’d say so!” Bofur called as they walked towards the staircase. “There were Dragons involved!”  
  
Bilbo shushed him out of the fear that Legolas was walking by, but the warrior portrait simply laughed. “Adorable! Go on, and don’t come back any later than midnight.”  
  
Ori was waiting at the bottom of the staircase in the Entrance Hall, holding a lantern in silence. Neither of the three spoke for the whole time as they crossed the courtyard and wooden bridge, down to where Beorn’s hut was. Bilbo shivered at the sight of the forest, looming dark and dangerously close to the small, cozy little hut he’d been inside so many times.  
  
“You know, we could just have skipped out.” Bofur said as they saw Beorn waiting along with Legolas on the front step. But Ori shook his head in disagreement.  
  
“We couldn’t have. Radagast followed me down the stairs from Hufflepuff.” he said. “Didn’t you see the hare?”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur shook their heads no. Obviously that had been quite a clever trick of Radagast, then.  
  
“Well, let’s just get it over with then.” Bofur said as they approached the hut. Beorn had pieces of some raw meat slung over his shoulder, and carried a rather large and intimidating crossbow. Legolas looked absolutely mortified, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail and his skin pale, if only by a little more than its usual pigment.  
  
“Hello.” Beorn greeted them shortly. “Elrond told me you three would be coming.”  
  
“Four.” Legolas corrected him, standing from his seat on the damp porch. “Though I would prefer if it was not.”  
  
Beorn gave him a quick glance. He sighed, and shook the dirt off his boots. “It isn’t a good time to be going into the forest. Not with all this snow still around. It isn’t melting as quickly as it should.”  
  
“So then why are we going?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“I’ll tell you once we get in. You all have lanterns?”  
  
Ori and Legolas each held up a lantern. “Very well. We’ll go into groups.” Beorn said. “Ori, you can take Bofur. I’ll go with you two. Legolas, take Bilbo.”  
  
Bilbo was taken aback. His desire to go wandering around in the woods with the person who likely hated him the most was completely nonexistent. He was about to protest when Legolas protested first. “But, sir, can we not all go together? It would be safer, true?”  
  
“You can have Galard go with you.” Beorn said, speaking of his half-Warg pet. “If it makes you feel any safer.”  
  
Quite the opposite, Bilbo thought, but he said nothing. A gust of wind went by, making the branches of the trees in the forest sway ominously. Bilbo gulped. In no possible way was he prepared. He still had exams to do in a few months. It seemed like these last two months had been dragging on forever, in honesty. He wasn’t ready to disappear yet, especially in a particular anti-climactic way. None of this he said out loud. Beorn opened his hut door, and called for Galard, who came bounding over and tried to chew on Bofur’s hat, as per usual.  
  
“We haven’t got all night.” Beorn said, sounding particularly disgruntled. He lead them forward, towards the edge of the forest, and then inside the sea of enormous trees, until the moon was barely visible above the treetops that reached the dark sky.  
  
Everyone was as silent as a corpse. The only sound Bilbo could hear besides his thoughts was Galard panting, and their footsteps in the half-melted snow. Every time someone stepped on a twig, his heart skipped a beat. He felt as if there were a million eyes glued on him, and that he was surrounded by creatures right out of his Defence Against the Dark Arts class. “Calm down, Bilbo.” he told himself silently. “You shouldn’t be afraid of the night. You’ve escaped Dragons before, right?”  
  
But faced with the unknown right here and now, he would take escaping from a thousand Dragons over that. Galard brushed past him unexpectedly, and he nearly squealed.  
  
After what felt like hours of walking, Beorn held out his hand, stopping the students. Beorn stooped down to the forest floor as they watched, dimly lit by the lanterns Ori and Legolas carried that swayed in the wind. He searched around for a while with his hands, before standing back up. “Do you see this?” he asked them. He was holding up a tuft of white hair. Bilbo reached out to touch it, and immediately yanked his hand back. It felt like a spike, like he had been pricked with a spindle. Suddenly, he remembered: the Unicorn. The dead Unicorn he had stumbled upon accidentally the last time he was in here in December. Its hair had felt exactly like that.  
  
“Unicorn hair.” Beorn said, recognizing Bilbo’s expression of shock. “There’s been dead ones showing up all across the woods. I’ve found everything from blood to bodies.”  
  
“Unicorns?” Legolas interrupted. “That isn’t possible. They aren’t native to these parts. You must be mistaken.”  
  
“Of course I’m not mistaken, Greenleaf.” Beorn said back in a snapping tone. “After you spend a few years of your life living beside this forest and after you’ve come in here a few times yourself, then you can correct me on whether or whether not I know my beasts.”  
  
Legolas went red. Bofur smirked. “As I was saying,” Beorn continued, stuffing the hair into his pocket. “I’ve been finding dead ones much too often. The last I saw was badly injured. What we’re going to do is try and find it.”  
  
“We’re going looking for it?” Ori asked, in disbelief.  
  
“Indeed.” Beorn said. “I want to treat it properly. And if you find any other remains, I want you to mark them. There can’t be Unicorn parts just left lying here. It’s dangerous for the other animals.”  
  
“Of course, by all means possible, we must keep the deadly Werewolves and Wargs safe.” Legolas said mockingly.  
  
Beorn turned his head to him, glaring. “If you wish to go back to the castle, I won’t be one to stop you. But I’ll warn you, if you do, there’s a good chance you won’t be getting comfortable back in your dorm.”  
  
“I’m not afraid.” Legolas assured him, with a tiny quiver in his tone. “I just disagree with the task at hand.”  
  
“Like it or not, you four are going to be Unicorn hunters.” Beorn said, tapping Legolas’s lantern and making the flame inside flicker. “We haven’t got much time to lose. I don’t want you staying in here after midnight.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s when the Fellbeasts start to come out.” Bofur teased. Beorn shot him a look.  
  
“Don’t wander too far in.” he warned. “If you do, you’ll find yourself lost far beyond here. Stick to the tall trees. If you see a pathway, don’t you dare to follow it.”  
  
“Why’s that?” Ori asked.  
  
“This forest goes deeper than I’ve ever been in. But one thing I know is that no one has ever mapped out a path inside, much less made one. So if you see one that looks to be made by a creature like us, stray as far away from it as possible.” Beorn said. “More than likely it’ll be a trap.”  
  
“Charming.” Ori whispered under his breath.  
  
“You should be able to catch the Unicorn.” Beorn told them. “It’s injured, so it can’t run as fast as it normally would be able to. We won’t be too far behind you.” he said directly to Bilbo and Legolas. “If anything goes wrong, send up red sparks. Understand?”  
  
Everyone nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”  
  
Beorn turned to his left, Bofur and Ori trailing behind. As they disappeared from view, Bofur gave Bilbo a look that seemed to say, ‘sorry you’ve got to go wandering towards your more-than-likely doom with someone who would more-than-likely sell you out to Gandalf for a glass of rotten pumpkin juice’. Then they were gone, and it was just Bilbo, who was beginning to feel like a mere foot tall, Legolas, who kept flicking his wand about nervously, and Galard, who was snarling at the empty area.  
  
They walked on in the opposite direction, silent for most of the walk. “Unicorns.” Legolas muttered after at least fifteen minutes. “He must be ludicrous. And speaking to me in that way…if my father heard about this, he would certainly not be pleased.”  
  
“Well, your father isn’t here.” Bilbo said to him, curling up his hands inside his mittens to warm them up. “And don’t call Beorn absurd. He knows what he’s doing.”  
  
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, did I insult your friend?” Legolas asked, mocking an apology. “No wonder you three can do anything you please.”  
  
“We certainly can’t!” Bilbo said, beginning to become annoyed. “We got this detention for the same reason you did.”  
  
“Don’t try and lie to me.” Legolas said. “I know why you’re really here. You weren’t visiting a family member, you were sending off a Dragon.”  
  
Bilbo gulped. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Maybe you were the one with the Dragon, and that’s why you’re blaming it on me.”  
  
“You still refuse to own up.” Legolas scoffed. “Fine. I can see how it is. You think that because you are Bilbo Baggins that it means you can do whatever you please, go anywhere you want, tell lies to anyone.”  
  
It took Bilbo quite a bit of effort to not say a few curses on his mind at that. “You know I don’t. I don’t even get why people think I’m famous. No one brings it up around me anymore.”  
  
“Please, I don’t have time to explain your own life story.” Legolas sighed. “Just go back to your silence, would you? I much preferred that.”  
  
“I don’t care what you prefer.” Bilbo snapped. “And you know what else? Y-”  
  
But he was interrupted by the sudden sound of something scraping across the forest floor. Both boys stopped their squabbling. They had been arguing and walking for so long that he could not tell what part of the forest they were in. Bilbo felt a sudden chill in the air, as if something terrible had just appeared. He wanted to run, but found himself rooted to the spot in fear.  
  
“What was that?” Legolas asked. Bilbo shook his head. He did not know, and that made it all the worse. The scraping sounded again, and then the sound of a twig snapping in the distance. They were standing in a clearing, thick trees surrounding them left and right. As he looked down, Bilbo saw that they had stopped directly in a patch of a sticky, clear liquid that he could only assume was the blood of a Unicorn.  
  
“Look.” Bilbo said, pointing at the patch, but Legolas did not look. Instead, his eyes were fixated straight ahead, at the large white horse lying beside a rotted log, fur matted and scratched.  
  
They had done it - they had found the Unicorn. But now that they found it, what were they supposed to be doing with it? Surely they couldn’t carry it back. What would happen if they approached it? And was it even still alive? Bilbo couldn’t tell from this distance. Just as he was about to ask Legolas if they should check its health, the scraping sound came back, this time closer - much too close.  
  
The leaves on a tree close to them rustled. The log behind the Unicorn quivered as well, but not for the same reason. He watched as the log began to roll over, and saw something crawling out from underneath it. A hooded figure began to push its way out from under the log, slithering on the ground as Bilbo and Legolas looked on in horror. It stalked its way over to the body of the Unicorn, and put what looked to be a hand atop its head. The figure lowered its own head, and bit into the neck of the Unicorn.  
  
Bilbo let out a strangled sound as he saw it begin to drink from the wound, as if it was a Vampire from old library books. Galard growled and barked. The figure stopped drinking. It raised its head towards the three. Legolas let out a scream, and darted away, faster than Bilbo had ever seen anyone run. The figure began to slither towards Bilbo, and he felt himself freeze. Galard barked, and charged for the figure. But as he stormed closer, he was suddenly pushed out of the way out of thin air. Bilbo watched, horrified, as the half-Warg fell to the ground, and yelped as if it was a young puppy.  
  
Now nothing stood in between Bilbo and the figure. His forehead began to burn as it stood up, looking more monstrous than like any walking creature Bilbo had ever seen. He tried to run, but could not. He tried to call out, but found his voice weak. He tried to fire a spell at it, but found that he had instantly forgotten anything and everything Professor Oakenshield had taught him. It seemed hopeless, and Bilbo was ready to see himself charged at by this hooded figure - when, suddenly, the sound of wings came from above.  
  
Bilbo shut his eyes as he heard a scream come from high above his head, and gusts of air blown all around him. He heard staggering footsteps and swooping before the noise stopped. His scar was still in pain, which took a few seconds to lighten up. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and let out a gasp he did not know he had been holding. The hooded figure was no longer there. What had replaced it, however, was not exactly something comforting.  
  
A giant Eagle stood in front of him, wings spread wide and dark blue eyes focused on him. The bird was much larger than Bilbo had ever seen before, which intimidated him quite a bit. It was brown, with feathers of multiple patterns and a beak that appeared to be battered and bruised. But nevertheless, he had been rescued.  
  
“Thank you.” he told the Eagle, though he was not sure it understood him. “That thing was about to have me.”  
  
The Eagle did not respond. Bilbo was not surprised at this. What he was surprised at was when the Eagle pointed with its beak to his forehead. His hair had been brushed back to reveal the feather-shaped scar. So even the creatures of the forest knew who he was. “What do you mean?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“You should not be here, child.” a voice came from inside his head, one that was most certainly not his own. “It is not safe for a holder of such destiny like yourself to be in danger.”  
  
“Was that you?” Bilbo asked the Eagle. “Are - are you talking to me?”  
  
“I do not speak.” the voice said again, though that only answered his question. “I merely communicate. You must leave at once, son of Baggins.” The Eagle bowed its head. “I will take you from here. Your companions will follow where I go.”  
  
Bilbo climbed onto the back of the Eagle, and gripped its neck. With a flutter of the wings, it began to rise into the air, the forest floor growing further and further away. “Wait - what about Galard?” Bilbo asked, remembering the half-Warg who now lay wounded on the ground.  
  
“He is not injured.” the Eagle told him silently. “He is more than capable of returning to his master. It is not him who needed to be saved.”  
  
Once they were above the treetops, the Eagle began to glide through the air. It was quite the view Bilbo had. He could see the castle under the moonlit sky, the lake reflecting the stars, even a little over the water where he did not know if anything laid there or not. He could also see red sparks rising from over the forest. Legolas must have sent out the warning signal after he ran away. The Eagle carried Bilbo over the forest in silence, letting Bilbo enjoy the sight from his height and calm his nerves. His scar no longer burned, and he was feeling his heartbeats slow down.  
  
Soon enough, the flight was over, and the Eagle descended to the edge of the forest. As Bilbo climbed off, the Eagle bowed its head. “Thank you.” Bilbo said once more. “But I have a question. What exactly was that thing? The one that attacked me?”  
  
The Eagle was silent for a while. “We do not speak of it.” it answered at last. “It is something that this forest has never seen before. It has been destroying life ever since it entered. Such a crime it is, to kill a Unicorn. The blood is cursed. Once taken in, the drinker shall never live a life like their own again.”  
  
“Why would anything do that?” Bilbo asked.  
  
The Eagle snapped its beak. “It is an elixir of life, son of Baggins. Once drunk, it will save you from death for a time unknown. But that is such impurity, it is one of the worst crimes possible to commit as a creature of this world.”  
  
“But if you’d be cursed, why would you drink it in the first place?”  
  
“Perhaps it is gaining strength from it. Strength from something powerful to prepare for even more power. Son of Baggins, tell me, do you know of anything that a power-seeking creature would maim and slaughter even the purest of animals to get?”  
  
A terrible thought suddenly entered Bilbo’s head. “You can’t mean the Arkenstone, do you? The one inside Hogwarts?”  
  
“I am afraid that I do.” the Eagle said. “And do you know of the power-seeking creature that wishes to have it the most?” It pointed its beak at Bilbo’s scar once more. Another thought came to Bilbo, this one even worse than the last.  
  
The last he had heard Smaug the Terrible even mentioned was months ago. Had he not been the one to give Bilbo his very scar, killed his parents, burnt his home to a crisp? “Smaug no longer exists to this world.” Beorn had said. “Rubbish, I think. The beast must still be out there, hiding…just waiting for his power to come back.”  
  
“Do you mean to say, that hidden in the forest, is Smaug the Terrible?” Bilbo asked the Eagle.  
  
The Eagle nodded its head, and Bilbo’s heart dropped into his knees. “That thing you saw was not the true Smaug.” it said. “It was but a shell, a ghost of what he used to be. That is why he wishes to have the Arkenstone, son of Baggins. He wishes to return to his true power. If he had done so already, you would not have been left alive.”  
  
Bilbo was speechless. Out of all the things he had expected to see tonight, the thing that killed his parents had certainly not been one of them. “I must return to my own now.” the Eagle said. “Good luck, son of Baggins. You will find that you will soon be in dire need of it.” With a swoosh of the wings, the Eagle rose up into the air, high over the treetops. Bilbo watched it go, shadowed by the moon as it disappeared.  
  
The door to Beorn’s hut swung open. “Bilbo!” Bofur called, running out to him. “We thought you were a goner!”  
  
“I’m alright, I’m okay, don’t worry.” Bilbo reassured him, though his mental state was in fact, the complete opposite.  
  
“What happened to you?” was the first thing out of Ori’s mouth as he entered the hut, the warmth of the fire Beorn had lit heating his very bones.  
  
“Legolas said you were attacked.” Beorn said, rushing over with his coat to place on Bilbo’s back. Legolas himself was sitting on the window ledge, a cup of tea in his hand. “We searched all over, but you were nowhere.”  
  
“Did Galard get back?” Bilbo asked, and Ori let out a sound of surprise.  
  
“You could’ve been dead, and you’re worried about Galard?” he asked him.  
  
“Galard is fine.” Beorn answered, and Bilbo instantly felt relieved. “He returned a few moments ago, and is just outside.”  
  
“So what happened?” Bofur asked. Bilbo told them all about the Unicorn and the hooded figure, emitting the detail of the fact that the figure had very possibly been Smaug the Terrible. But when he told them about the Eagle, Beorn frowned.  
  
“There’s no Eagles in the forest, Bilbo.” he told him. “Never have been.”  
  
“But it saved me!” Bilbo said, confused as to why he wasn’t believing him. “I swear, I wouldn’t lie about something like this. It dropped me here, didn’t you see it?”  
  
“I didn’t see any Eagle.” Bofur said. “What do you mean?”  
  
Bilbo was confused by this. There had most definitely been an Eagle that saved him, spoken to him…what else could have happened. All of this was becoming too much for him to handle. “I think I need to go up to the common room.”  
  
“I think so, as well. It’s nearly midnight.” Beorn said. “All four of you can go back. I’m sorry this went awry. I shouldn’t have agreed into taking you.”  
  
“No matter, let’s just go.” Ori said, and everyone nodded, even Legolas. Beorn let them out the door, and Bilbo could see Galard sleeping next to the hut, seemingly uninjured. Everyone tried to ask Bilbo for more details of his attack, but he did not wish to answer any of them. “I’ll tell you two tomorrow.” he said to Bofur and Ori as they reached the front doors. “I just need to…I just need to be alone for a while. I’ll be back in the common room soon, go without me.”  
  
“But won’t you get caught?” Bofur asked him.  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “I won’t.” he said. He looked at Legolas to make sure he understood that fact. “I won’t be long. I just want to walk around for a bit.”  
  
But that was not the plan that Bilbo had in mind. As soon as they all promised to not tell anyone that he was walking around and said goodnight, he turned down the hallway. He remembered the room and how to get there perfectly. It only took him a few minutes to turn down the arched hallway and find the secret door. The beautiful room was still the same, the basin and double mirrors, the starry sky and crystal vines.  
  
He sat down in front of the mirror, in front of his parents, who smiled at him as if they were there, but they were still cold, dead, gone. No matter how many times he came back here, they would never be with him. They would always be silent, always be smiling, never faced with danger and never being able to comfort him as he began to cry in front of them, his head buried in his robes.  
  
“Help me.” he whispered to them, but he knew that the only person who could hear him call out was himself.


	22. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is a bit of a longer one, so strap in, we're getting closer to the end.)

The night after their detention in the forest, Bilbo did not sleep well. Nor did he the next. Or the next. Or the next month, to be exact. As the rest of February passed and it turned to March, coming with its dreary downpours and taupe grass, Bilbo found himself increasingly worried, upset, and stressed. Every time he turned his head he expected to find Thranduil, Gandalf, or that thing from the forest waiting to pain him. He remembered his dreams vividly after waking, so much so that he had time to think about what they were trying to tell him as he went to breakfast, even if it had been something as ridiculous as a rabbit stealing a loaf of bread. Even in the company of his friends, he felt apart, as if his mind was somewhere else, cowering underneath a blanket and wanting the world to simply leave him be for a week.  
  
His visits to the secret room and mirror had also increased. Be it while he was supposed to be in Charms, or so late into the night that he was sure he was the only person awake in the whole world, he would sit in front of the mirror with his parents, trapped inside. Bofur had figured out that he was doing this, of course. He was no airhead, though at first glance it may have seemed to anyone other than Bilbo. He had offered to accompany him, to stay up with him late as he wanted, but Bilbo refused. He knew that this problem was his own, no one else’s.  
  
As February began to close, Bilbo began to drift away. His homework was left undone more times than he could count (but that Ori certainly could), his Creature’s Chess skills falling back into lousy, even his Quidditch motivation was out of reach. He’d barely been paying attention during his last practice, and nearly got his eye taken out by one of Kili’s Bludgers.  
  
“You alright there, Bilbo?” Nori asked him once they got back on the ground. “You looked a little lost.”  
  
Lost, indeed, because he had been imagining in full detail what would happen to him if the Dragon on the third floor burnt down the school. But that wasn’t exactly something he could use as an excuse for not catching the Snitch. Gryffindor’s last match of the year would be against Hufflepuff, taking place in earliest May, a good thing seeing as how Bilbo may not even be ready for then.  
  
One night in early March, Bofur had invited Ori up to the Gryffindor common room, since he wasn’t understanding exactly how Bowtruckle sap was supposed to be cut in half. They sat in front of the hearth, Ori going over sap properties to Bofur, and Bilbo sitting curled into a ball on the sofa. The boys kept glancing over at him for a second, then quickly turning back to their books. Bilbo could tell they were talking to each other about him, they must be, why else would they be looking at him as if he was a lost dog?  
  
“You two could at least tell me what you’re saying.” Bilbo said abruptly, interrupting Bofur’s question about whether or not a Bowtruckle would win against an inchworm.  
  
“What do you mean?” Ori asked him.  
  
“You keep staring at me. I’m not bothering you, am I?”  
  
Ori and Bofur shared a look again. Bilbo sighed. “See? You’re acting strange now.”  
  
“Well, you’re actually acting a little strange yourself.” Ori said cautiously, as if if he said something wrong Bilbo would lash out. “You’re sitting all by yourself. Usually you’d be confused along with Bofur, and want to-”  
  
“I’m not confused.” Bilbo said. “I know the properties of Bowtruckle sap.”  
  
Ori sighed. “That wasn’t even what we were talking about, Bilbo.”  
  
“We don’t want to be rude, you know.” Bofur added himself in. “We’re just…worried about you, that’s all.”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “You don’t have to be. I’m just a little stressed.”  
  
Again, Ori and Bofur shared glances. “This is about the Eagle, isn’t it?” Ori asked him, dropping his voice to a whisper and remembering when Bilbo had told them both of his encounter. When Bilbo didn’t respond, he continued “If it is, I’d say don’t worry about it. There’s no way anything bad would happen while Gandalf’s here. He’s looking after the stone, remember? And besides that, you’re not even sure that that thing was…was…” Ori stopped, fearful of saying the name.  
  
“But I wasn’t sure it wasn’t Smaug, either.” Bilbo said, Ori wincing. “And I’m assuming Gandalf doesn’t know about any of that, does he? The Unicorn deaths, Thranduil stealing the stone…”  
  
“But he does know about that, you told him!” Bofur said. “You just need to take a break, Bilbo. It’ll all blow over, you watch.”  
  
“And let someone steal the Arkenstone?” Bilbo asked incredulously. Ori shushed him, his eyes darting around the room to see if there were any turned heads. “Bofur, if something bad happens, I don’t want to be responsible.”  
  
“And you won’t be, at least not alone.” Ori said. “We’re here with you, remember?”  
  
But Bilbo shook his head. After everything they’d been through, after all the danger, he wasn’t so sure he wanted them to be. “No, whatever’s coming I’ll have to do alone.”  
  
“Why would you think that?” Bofur asked. “Why wouldn’t we be there for you?”  
  
“I’m not saying you wouldn’t, I’m saying that you shouldn’t.” Bilbo said. “Look, since we started down this way it’s gotten more and more dangerous. I don’t think it’s safe for you to feel like you have to help me.”  
  
“But we’ve been there every other time.” Bofur said. “What makes you think we’re gonna back down now?”  
  
“Because I said you should.” Bilbo said, and the way it came out was much more aggressive than he had planned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it that way.” he quickly apologized.  
  
“Bilbo…” Ori began, his growing expression a mixture of confused and upset. “Remember when we first found out about the stone? All the way back at the beginning? We said we didn’t care if it was dangerous. You said you didn’t care.”  
  
“That was different. Ori, please, try to understand.” Bilbo said, beginning to wish he could just hide underneath his robes.  
  
“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a child.” Ori snapped suddenly. “I understand quite well what you’re saying. What I don’t understand is why you’re saying it. We’re your friends, Bilbo! You can’t just pretend like we’re not there! And then go on about how you have to do this alone!” By now, a few fourth years playing Exploding Snap in the corner had paused to look at the scene unfolding.  
  
“We’ve been here for you, I’ve been here for you!” Ori continued, getting more and more agitated by the second. “Does that mean absolutely nothing to you? Were you pretending that we weren’t there, on the third floor, in the forest, on the tower? Were you there alone?”  
  
“Ori, please, calm d-” Bofur began, but Ori cut him off, taking his books and standing up.  
  
“Do friends mean nothing to you? Is it because you think you’re famous, right? That because you’re famous you can do whatever you want? That you get to be an upset emotional child about things you knew the risks of, push away your friends and do it all by yourself?” Ori was sniffling now, and quite a few more students were looking their way. Bilbo could hear them whispering behind him.  
  
“You want to do it all by yourself, is that right? So you can be famous again! You must not even want friends, you just want to suffer on your own! Because you’re the famous Bilbo Baggins! Well, guess what then, not everyone with dead parents gets a free way through life!” Ori said his last sentence near tears, and then he stormed away, Bilbo still stuttering out an apology that he knew was too late. “Go ahead, do it on your own. I won’t stop you.” And then he was gone, sounds of muffled crying coming from the stairwell as he ran off.  
  
Bilbo ran off as well. He shut himself inside his dormitory and closed the curtains on his bed, angry at Ori for reacting the way he did, angry at Bofur for not helping him out, angry at himself for being this way, and just wanting to disappear.  
  
Unfortunately, this he could not do, and so he spent the next few days with only one friend. Ori merely only glanced their way at breakfast the next day, as well as the next. He and Bofur were very quiet as they shared notes during History of Magic, and Bilbo found himself instinctively thinking that he could ask Ori for help on his Herbology essay, only to realize that he had to do it himself. Perhaps he had been taking him for granted.  
  
Bilbo’s mood did not improve after the fight, quite the opposite. There were days where he could not get himself out of his bed, and had to ask Bofur to pull him out by the arms and legs. People who he barely talked to had taken to trying to get his good mood back. Godelina helped him write his Herbology essay (“See, what you’ve got wrong is the properties of Mandrake Root. It doesn’t relieve, it cures.”), Tauriel offered to stay after Quidditch practice with him (“The weather’s clearing up, so the Snitch should be more noticeable, if that’s your trouble.”), and Bombur had offered him a few Chocolate Frog cards (“My brother gave me Rostrata, because she looks a lot like me, but you can have her if you want.”). Bilbo sincerely was hoping that this seemingly never-ending dread would end soon, because if it kept up for much longer, eventually he was going to start breaking.

  


“Are you gonna have that?” Bofur asked, motioning to Bilbo’s toast. Bilbo shook his head, and pushed him his plate. “Sorry, I just missed supper yesterday and-”  
  
“It’s fine.” Bilbo said. He stared at his now-empty plate as his friend crunched down on the burnt bread. It was late March now, and he still was not over the encounter with the Eagle. Ori wasn’t as mad at him now, thought, which was helpful, but he knew that their friendship wasn’t the same as it was before. Perhaps it would never be. In all honesty, he still stood by what he said. It was because he cared about them that he didn’t want to see them hurt. Why couldn’t Ori understand that?  
  
“We have History of Magic first today.” Bofur said. He, too, had become a little more closeted over the past few weeks. It was surprising to see him like that. Bilbo had always thought that he’d always be cheerful.  
  
“I didn’t finish my work for that.” They were still friends, of course. But their conversations were more short and morose than they had ever been. Now that Ori was on very short speaking terms with him, but still perfectly fine with Bofur, Bilbo assumed he was caught in the middle with nowhere to go.  
  
“It’s alright, Angmar never notices.” It was suddenly beginning to dawn on Bilbo that in a short two months or so, he had managed to pull apart his friend group like a band of rubber. Sure, they were never perfect, and sometimes he knew that they didn’t like each other in the moment, but they had each other. How worried had he been on his first day that he would be alone? How relieved had he been when he wasn’t? And now how was he feeling?  
  
“I’ll just ask Ruiwen if they have anything I can use.” It didn’t matter, of course. It was he that had split them up in the first place. His fear, his feelings had started it. And he wanted to end it, he really did. But he didn’t know how to. He got up from the table and turned to leave. “See you there.”  
  
But as he started to go, someone called after him. “Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!” Bombur was running towards him from the front of the hall, and appeared to be quite out of breath as he reached him. “I…this is for you.” he puffed, handing a folded up piece of parchment to Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo sighed. He had better not be in trouble with anyone. So far he’d been trouble free since February. “Who’s it from?”  
  
“Professor Elrond.” Bombur answered. “He wants to see you, Mr Baggins.”  
  
“Oh.” Bilbo said, beginning to unfold the parchment very slowly and surely. “You don’t have to call me Mr Baggins, you know.”  
  
“Sorry, Bilbo. See you around!” Then he ran off the other way, knocking into Bilbo’s side as he did so.  
  
“What’s it say?” Bofur asked.  
  
Bilbo finished unfolding the paper, and read. “Bilbo Baggins.” he started. “Please meet me in my office instead of attending your first class this morning. It is urgent that you do so. Please do not bring anyone with you. Signed, Elrond.” Bilbo paused, and reread it. “That’s odd. He didn’t use any of his titles.”  
  
“Never mind that, it sounds like he’s trying to murder you!” Bofur said, taking the letter from Bilbo. “You sure you want to go alone?”  
  
“What’s so important that I have to, anyway?” he wondered aloud. He was suddenly very on-edge. Even the smallest things that seemed out of place set him off nowadays.  
  
Students were beginning to leave the Great Hall. “I guess I’m not going to History of Magic, then.” Bilbo said. “Can you take notes for me?”  
  
“There won’t be much to take notes on, it’s just more Elf Wars.” Bofur said. “I’ll get some from Ori.”  
  
“Right.” The hall was beginning to empty. Bilbo didn’t know what his punishment might be if he avoided Elrond. He’d rather that he never find out. “Well, see you, then.”  
  
“See you.” Bofur said back, and with that they both left the hall, avoiding any eye contact of the sort. At the first chance he got, Bilbo went in the opposite direction of Bofur, trying to remember where exactly Elrond’s office was. The only other time he’d actually been there was during the middle of the night, being dragged along by the caretaker.  
  
He decided to ask Elmira’s portrait for directions. She had told him how exactly to get to Gandalf’s when he needed to tell him about his suspicions. Perhaps she could help him again? “Good morning, dear!” she called out as he rounded the corner to her portrait. “What brings you here?”  
  
“I need to visit Professor Elrond. Do you know where he is?”  
  
Elmira thought for a moment. “The room that you are searching for, I know of, but the problem is, it is many floors above us. Perhaps ask Elis, where she sits on the fifth floor, I’m sure she’d be able to help you out a great deal more!”  
  
“Right, thanks.” Bilbo said, and was starting to move on when Elmira continued speaking.  
  
“But you must be careful with who you tell about us! Recently there’s been someone causing quite the fuss.”  
  
Bilbo turned back around. “What do you mean?”  
  
Elmira didn’t seem to be in her regular cheerful state at the moment. Even though her face could not move, she seemed to be staring darkly at him. “Someone has been passing through us every night, and somehow, I don’t think what they’re doing is right.”  
  
A shiver suddenly ran up Bilbo’s spine. “Do you know who it is?”  
  
“None of us have gotten a glimpse of their face, once they’ve gone through, they vanish without a trace.” Elmira said. “You should be on watch, Bilbo dear. I sense that there is trouble lurking near.”  
  
Quickly, Bilbo began to head towards the fifth floor. As he did, he turned his head back at the door to the third floor corridor. He got the feeling that whoever Elmira was warning him about had something to do with what was hidden in there.  
  
Elis was an awfully nice portrait of a mermaid, who gave him the riddle ‘what would come down, but never return up?’, to which the answer was ‘rain’. She gave him very brief directions to Elrond’s study, the meeting of which he wanted to go there for likely already late. He passed a few tapestries of Elf wars on the walls, and was reminded of his History of Magic class that he was likely missing. He wondered if Ori and Bofur would be talking about him, now that he was absent. He hoped it was not so as he saw the door to Elrond’s office, and knocked twice.  
  
It swung open on his command. “Come in.” Elrond said from where he sat at his desk.  
  
As Bilbo entered, he saw the room for much more than it was when he was last here. It was small, much smaller than Gandalf’s office, but with the same amount of elegancy and professionalism. The drapes on the window were a dark plum colour, with golden string wrapped around them to keep them in place. On the stone wall were many pictures and artworks of various battles and what Bilbo assumed were lands far, far away from here. The circular shape of the room allowed for a tiny little fireplace to be tucked in behind Elrond’s desk, just small enough for the strange blue flames to flourish without catching on anything else. A chair was pulled out in front of the desk, which both appeared to be made from gnarled and twisted branches. “Have a seat.” said Elrond, stirring a cup of dark coloured tea.  
  
Bilbo sat down lightly, not wanting to snap the branches of his chair. “Y-you wanted to see me, Professor?” he stammered. A picture of an ocean begun to crash its waves on the bank of sand.  
  
“I wanted to ask you how your detention with Professor Beorn went last month.” Elrond said. “I did not hear back from him, nor any of you.”  
  
“Oh.” Bilbo breathed a small sigh of relief. “It was fine, Professor.”  
  
“What did he ask you to do?” Elrond asked.  
  
“We were looking for Unicorns.” Bilbo answered. But then, he stopped. Should he be telling Elrond about what had happened in the forest that night? About the figure and the Eagle? Would Elrond want to know? Would he believe him? No, Bilbo decided. It was too ridiculous a story to believe. He would simply tell him what they had set out to do. “Beorn had found an injured one and wanted us to look for it.”  
  
“And did you find it?”  
  
“Yes. Well, no. We did, but then we lost it.”  
  
Elrond finished stirring his tea. “Strange, how does one lose a Unicorn? I was under the impression that they were the most fantastic of beasts.”  
  
“I think so, too. Beorn said there were a few getting injured over the past few weeks, back then, that is.”  
  
“So is that all that happened?” Elrond asked. “You were hunting down an injured Unicorn, but then lost its tracks?”  
  
Bilbo nodded. If this was all he had wanted to see him for, then what had been the urgency of the letter? “Is that all you wanted to ask of me?”  
  
Elrond shook his head. “It would have been, except you are not telling me the whole truth.”  
  
Bilbo went cold. Oh, no. “What do you mean?” he tried to pass by the subject.  
  
“Beorn approached me directly after your detention, and asked me a few questions about the creatures that inhabit the forest here at Hogwarts.” Elrond said. “Of course, he, as the caretaker, should know much more than me about that subject. But what he asked me was quite strange. Do you know what he asked of me, Bilbo?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “N-no idea, Professor.”  
  
“He asked me if there were any Eagles in the forest.” Elrond said, and Bilbo could feel his heartbeats speeding up. “Now, as I have said, I know very little about the forest, but one thing I do know is that there are certainly not any Eagles here at Hogwarts. And I also know that the only types of Eagles to exist, in Middle-Earth, are the Great Eagles. Surely you would have learned about them in your History classes by now?”  
  
Of course. Bilbo had to refrain from knocking his head on the table. “The Eagles of Manwë.” But that couldn’t be possible, could it? Surely a creature of that much importance hadn’t come to rescue him?  
  
“When I gave him my answer, Beorn said that you had claimed to have been rescued by an Eagle. But rescued from what, he did not tell me.” Elrond was now staring at Bilbo in the way he had seen teachers to do students when they had nearly destroyed half the classroom, dead serious and stone. “But now I am asking you, Bilbo. What attacked you, and what were you saved by?”  
  
Curses. Bilbo had been so careful to avoid telling anyone besides Bofur and Ori. Now it was all falling apart. “Professor, you wouldn’t believe me.”  
  
“I most certainly would attempt to, Mr Baggins.” Elrond said. It was obvious that he would not let up.  
  
There was no use hiding it now. He sighed. “Me and Legolas Greenleaf were walking in the forest, and we got lost. He spotted the Unicorn, but then there was…” What was the best way to put it? “…there was this thing.”  
  
“Could you be more specific?”  
  
“It was like a hooded figure.” And now the images were coming back to him, the way it had bit into the neck of the Unicorn and drunk from it, how it slithered and approached him like a predator waiting to tear him to pieces. He remembered seeing Galard tossed aside like a children’s doll and him standing alone, alone, his scar burning…  
  
“Bilbo?”  
  
He snapped back to reality. He was still in Elrond’s office, the picture of the ocean still crashing waves with itself. A large grandfather clock was chiming against the wall behind him. Elrond was staring expectantly and worriedly at him. It took him a second to realize that he had been saying his thoughts aloud. “I’m sorry, Professor. I got lost.”  
  
“That’s quite alright. Would you like some tea?” he offered. Bilbo nodded, and took a sip from the cup Elrond had been stirring. The taste was indescribable, as if it had been grown in a garden of purple and golden flowers, much like the colours of the study.  
  
“The reason why I wanted to ask you what happened on the night of your detention was because, on that same night, three of our professors fell ill.” Elrond told him, and Bilbo assumed that he was not going to ask him any further questions about the figure in the forest. “As well, as Balin the Nearly-Headless was to inform me, the portraits on the third floor reported someone attempting to pass through them.”  
  
Bilbo remembered what Elmira had said about that. He was beginning to draw connections between all of these strange happenings.  
  
“Now, nearly any student can understand my confusion when the next morning, I am informed that a student claimed to see a Great Eagle in the Forbidden Forest.” Elrond continued on. “For all of this to happen in one night is certainly not a coincidence. I sense that there is a great evil attempting to make its way into the school. I believe that you have sensed it as well.”  
  
Bilbo nodded slowly. He suddenly felt as if the room was much smaller than it was when he entered.  
  
“I feel the need to warn you, Bilbo.” Elrond said, his voice grim. “Not only because of who you are, but because of what you know, I believe that whatever this danger is, it will come for you. Hogwarts is the safest place for you to be, but it would be safer if you knew why.”  
  
“Why?” he asked, although he was not sure that he truly wanted to learn the answer.  
  
“The matter of your future is one that has been foretold before, many times, although not all of them about you specifically.” The ocean waves in the picture began to wave back and forth with force. “The prophecies of Lady Galadriel have put many in danger before, and will continue to do so as long as they last for. That is a matter I suggest you bring up with Professor Saruman, if you wish to know more. But the reason why you are here is much more complicated than simple Magic.”  
  
A knock came from the door, making Bilbo jump. Elrond quickly stood from his desk. “I am afraid there is no more time to discuss this. Do not tell anyone else what I have said to you.”  
  
“But-”  
  
Elrond cut him off with a wave of the hand. “You can return to your classes, now. I have a request of you, however. Please, do not wander the grounds alone anymore. It would be best if you had someone looking out for you.” Another knock sounded. “Thank you, Mr Baggins. Goodbye now.” Elrond said as he opened the door.  
  
Professor Oakenshield stood in the archway, looking disgruntled. “Elrond.” he greeted him shortly. Then his eyes turned to Bilbo. “I am sorry to have interrupted you.”  
  
“Do not be concerned, Thorin. Please, come in. Mr Baggins is leaving now.” Elrond invited Oakenshield in, as Bilbo brushed past him. A slight twinge was felt on his forehead as he left, scurrying down the stairs towards History of Magic, trying not to think of all that Elrond had said of danger and dark magic.  
  
He entered the classroom just in time to hear the last ten minutes of Professor Angmar’s lecture on the importance of Dwarves to the Second Age before they were let out. He caught up to Bofur in the hallway on their way to Herbology. “I need to tell you something.” he said, and pulled him away and into a broom closet.  
  
“Kinda stuffy in here, couldn’t you just tell me in the hallway?” Bofur asked.  
  
“Lumos.” Bilbo muttered, and the tip of his wand lit up. His head was still pounding with the weight of Elrond’s words. “I need to tell you what happened.”  
  
“What was it? Did he expel you? Oh, please don’t say he did, you didn’t even do anything wrong.”  
  
“No, no, I’m not expelled.” Bilbo moved to place his wand on the shelf, knocking over a bottle of dark blue liquid which shattered at his feet.  
  
“So then what did he tell you?”  
  
Bilbo told him everything Elrond had said, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to, even though he knew he wasn’t exactly in the best place with Bofur right now. As he went on, Bofur’s eyes got wider, his brow more furrowed. “So, are you gonna ask Saruman about it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Elrond said to ask Saruman, didn’t he? I’ll bet he’ll know something about prophecies. Even though Fili and Kili say he’s a little out-of-his-mind, he’s our best shot.”  
  
Our. Right, it was their best shot. Not just Bilbo, but his friend as well. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”  
  
“Bilbo.” Bofur looked at him as if he was disappointed that he didn’t think so. “I want to help you. Haven’t you realized that by now?”  
  
“I have, but I don’t want to hurt you. You or Ori.”  
  
“None of us are hurt, and we’re not planning on getting hurt. You shouldn’t be worrying about that. If anything, you should be worrying about whether or not Saruman will meet with a first-year Gryffindor for a few minutes or not.” He turned the knob on the door. “Let’s go now.”  
  
“Wait, now?”  
  
“Yes, now, when else? Dark magic isn’t going to wait until after dinner, Bilbo.” He opened the door to the closet, and light flooded in. He paused, and chuckled. “Knew I couldn’t stay mad at you for long. Come on.” 

  


As it turned out, according to both Elis and a portrait of a Dwarf scholar, the Divination classroom was located in the same building as the Astronomy tower was, and they couldn’t find a passage from here to there. Bilbo and Bofur ran across to the other building, scaring off quite a few thrushes who had perched on the sides of the bridge. It took quite a while to find their way, especially since they had to avoid all of the teachers passing down the hallways, but eventually they made their way up the staircase. Bofur accidentally ran into a ghost, who began to shout at him before they managed to get away.  
  
“That was close.” he remarked, once they had reached the top. But soon, a problem was realized. There was no door around here, and nothing that looked like an entrance to a classroom.  
  
“Do you know how we’re supposed to get in?” Bilbo asked.  
  
Bofur shrugged his shoulders. Then he looked up. “Well, we could try that.” he said, pointing at a wooden trapdoor in the ceiling.  
  
Bilbo looked up at it, too. That was the problem, seeing as it was much too far away for him to reach. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”  
  
“No, no, there’s a way. There’s always a way. Even if it involves blowing something up.” Bofur said, a saying Bilbo could tell he got from Fili and Kili. “You could climb up from my shoulders.”  
  
“Um…” Bilbo began, but stopped when he saw the pleased look on Bofur’s face. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it.”  
  
Bofur helped to hoist Bilbo up onto his shoulders. Bilbo was wishing he had a pair of shoes to wear now. “Don’t you dare drop me.” he said as he fumbled around to pull down the trapdoor.  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Okay, maybe once, but that’s not important.”  
  
Bilbo’s fingers caught the knob on the door, and he pulled. He nearly lost his balance as a ladder fell down. “Climb up. I’ll wait down here.” Bofur said.  
  
“But didn’t you want to go with me?”  
  
“It’s your prophecy, not mine. Good luck? I don’t know, what d'you say to someone who’s going to go uncover secrets?”  
  
Bilbo pulled himself up with the ladder, stepping off of Bofur’s shoulders. “See you.” he said, and Bofur waved back. Then he pulled himself fully inside the classroom, closing the trapdoor behind him.  
  
He was lucky there was no Divination class going on at the moment. It was eerily silent, the only sound being himself walking towards the centre of the room very slowly. It reminded him of Elrond’s office, in a way, only larger, more cluttered, and dustier. Baubles of glass and colour hung from the ceiling, a few levitating off the ground by themselves, creating light for the room besides the midmorning sun leaking through the windows. The room was arranged in a circle, with chairs and tables arranged in multiple places. Two giant windows stood on either side of the professor’s desk, each with an intricate pattern on it. Dust floated around in the soft golden light, landing on the brown-pink shag carpet and shelves with multiple tools and teacups placed perfectly on them.  
  
Bilbo was so lost in the atmosphere of the classroom he forgot why he was here. That was, at least until someone spoke from behind him. “Excuse me?” the person asked, and Bilbo turned to face Professor Saruman. He was tall, though not of Elf size, and had long white hair with a beard to match. He was looking at Bilbo with the utmost confusion, as if he was a three-legged beast rather than a simple Hobbit.  
  
“I’m sorry to intrude, Professor.” Bilbo said. “I’m Bilbo Baggins, sir.”  
  
“Elrond sent you here, didn’t he?” Saruman questioned.  
  
Bilbo nodded. “Well, he did suggest I come here…”  
  
But Saruman shook his head. “No, no, no.” he muttered. “I don’t want anything to do with this business.” He began to walk over to his desk, his clean white cloak flowing behind him as he did.  
  
“Sir, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent, see?” Bilbo said. Saruman couldn’t simply ignore him. Surely he knew about the things happening himself? “Elrond told you about the Eagles, didn’t he?”  
  
Saruman shook his head once more. “I heard about them myself. The sickness, the portraits all claiming to have been forced to let someone through, the boy who saw the Great Eagle…all within the same night! Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it.”  
  
“Sir!” Bilbo said. “Elrond won’t tell me what the prophecy is.”  
  
Saruman laughed suddenly, a sharp and disbelieving one. “Of Galadriel? My boy, do you think I know anything of them? I’m a teacher, not a Grand Seer.”  
  
“But…” Bilbo couldn’t think of anything to say. “Surely you must know something? Anything at all?”  
  
“You are not connected with the stars yet.” Saruman told him. “I cannot read you, or see anything about you. Not a surprise, I might add.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“It means that you are not the kind of creature that can be read upon first meeting, Bilbo. Your mind is far too young to connect with a Seer like myself. It is best that you now leave me alone.” he said, his tone snappish on his last words.  
  
Bilbo was in shock. He had no idea what Saruman was talking about. Though, admittedly, he knew nothing about Divination, he had expected to at least learn something. “But you must know of the prophecies.”  
  
“Lady Galadriel prophesied that a child born of the Shire would bring about the downfall of Smaug the Terrible and Magnificent, yes.” Saruman said. Then he paused. “The other one is much more clouded, however.”  
  
“There’s another one?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“For you only. Two were made by Lady Galadriel, the second hidden.” So, as it turned out, he did know quite a bit about the prophecies. Bilbo opened his mouth to ask more, but Saruman waved his hand first. “That is all I will say on the matter. Please, go away.” He walked over to a door hidden in the wall, and disappeared behind into what Bilbo could only assume was his office.  
  
Bilbo cursed. How rude was he? Refusing to even begin to tell Bilbo anything about what his future might hold, especially when it mattered the most. Was it because he was afraid of what consequences he might incur? Bilbo pondered on this as he inspected the trinkets and items on Saruman’s shelves.  
  
There were multiple balls of crystal and glass, as well as teacups and coloured leaves, all coated in dust of course, but the one that caught his eye was a Palantír with swirling colours of deep blue inside. It stood on a stand with carvings of multiple beasts and creatures, and was hidden behind a framed picture of three people Bilbo did not recognize. He had heard about these things from the times he had managed to stay awake during Professor Angmar’s lectures. They were used to see events happening at the moment, or to communicate with those far away. Palantírs, they were called, as according to Ori’s notes.  
  
Bilbo picked it up, and held it in his hand. It felt like holding a star, though it weighed around the same as a small bronze cauldron. He stared at the swirling shades of blue inside the ball, as if it was an ocean contained. But as he continued staring, the colours began to change to an empty black, and then suddenly into a fiery orange.  
  
Bilbo nearly dropped the Palantír as an image began to form inside it. A hooded figure stood, clutching its head and wailing in pain. It stood in front of a door, one with multiple thick, black locks on it. The figure pulled its hood further down over its face as it continued to cry out, its hands large and marked with blood. The Palantír was heating up, and Bilbo’s hands were beginning to feel it. The figure continued to lash out and cry, but Bilbo could not take his eyes off of it. The pain of the image and the Palantír’s heat combined were overwhelming him, and he was falling, falling, falling…  
  
A hand gripped his shoulder, steadying him. He dropped the Palantír and watched as it rolled away, across the room and stopping next to an overturned chair. Bilbo turned around to thank Professor Saruman for helping him, but stopped when he saw his eyes. They were white, clouded like a stormy sky. His breathing was thick and raspy, his mouth wide open and trembling. “Professor, are you alright?” Bilbo asked, but fell silent when Saruman began to speak.  
  
“He is coming.” he spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. “The master and his host will be united as one before the sun sets in a weeks time. Blood of a victim shall be spilt in his place, and the scarred will steal his power. It is waiting beneath the ground, beneath the undergrowth and dirt, and its power shall be unlocked once more…”  
  
Saruman began to shake, his hand gripping Bilbo’s shoulder as if for dear life, repeating the last word over and over again until suddenly he stopped. All went silent. Saruman’s hand loosened its grip on Bilbo’s shoulder, and his eyes returned to brown. He stared at Bilbo silently, Bilbo terrified at what he had just seen. “You are so young.” Saruman said at last, with a merciful and suddenly soft tone. “Just like your father.”  
  
Bilbo had no time to comprehend the situation. All he knew that he wanted to do was run. He threw Saruman’s hand off of his shoulder and ran for the trapdoor, throwing it open and jumping down. Bofur stood there and ran after Bilbo down the spiralling staircase, calling after him “What did he tell you?”, but Bilbo did not answer. He was in too deep. Everything was happening at once, and none of it was good.  
  
He ran all the way out of the building, into the courtyard and collapsed on a bench made of stone as Bofur caught up to him. “He says something’s coming.” Bilbo told Bofur, his voice shaky as if he would cry. “In a week, something’s going to happen. Someone’s going to die. And someone’s going to steal the Arkenstone.”

  


Even though he had been told not to do it, Bilbo left the common room that night. Even though he had been told it was dangerous, he went alone. Steps tracing the same path that had become second nature to walk to him, he left to go see his parents, to sit in front of the mirror underneath the night sky. This time, he wasn’t sure he would be able to come back from it.  
  
He’d explained it all to Bofur, what Saruman had said when he lost control and what Bilbo had seen inside the Palantír. They were no idiots. They knew something evil was making its way into the school, and sooner or later, the Arkenstone was going to disappear. If it was Thranduil, he was already inside. If it was Smaug, the consequences would be terrible. If it was neither, then they would have gotten away with it already. All this set to happen in a week, foreseen by Saruman only a few hours ago.  
  
In all honesty, Bilbo had no idea what to do. All throughout the year, he’d been searching for clues on how to stop Thranduil, how to save the Arkenstone; but now that he was being presented with the actual situation, he was lost. He was down to only one person on his side, and was being treated like he might explode at any given moment by the teachers. Which, at this point, he might.  
  
He stood in front of the basin for a while long, tracing the water with his finger, looking at his reflection in the ripples. His hair was getting longer. He was getting taller. If it weren’t for his small head and large feet, he might have thought that he was a Dwarf. He was scared that his parents wouldn’t recognize him, but they still smiled at him as he sat down in front of him. Smiling, without a care in the world. He wished that he could be where they were, wherever they were. Away from prophecies and evil and stones and Dragons, somewhere where there was no trouble but looking at someone he loved in a mirror. If he could, he’d break the glass and join them. Go away to where he’d never be found by Smaug, by Thranduil or anyone else who was waiting for him to do what the prophecy said. If he could, he’d smash the prophecy and live on his own, do whatever he wanted to. Fate would amount to nothing. If he could.  
  
Bilbo had been sitting in front of the mirror for at least two hours when something happened that had never happened before. “Here, again, are we?” He was interrupted.  
  
Bilbo turned around to see Professor Gandalf standing just a few feet behind him, his grey robes draping against the ground. He was smiling, although it seemed like a knowing one.  
  
“How did you get in here?” Bilbo asked, astonished that he was not alone. How long had Gandalf been there for? Had he been watching him?  
  
“The rooms in Hogwarts are infinite and curious.” Gandalf said. “Naturally, I know each and every one.”  
  
“I didn’t see you, Professor, I’m sorry.” he began apologizing, but Gandalf shook his head. He went to sit on the ground, next to Bilbo.  
  
“There is no need for apologies. I see that you, like so many others before you, have discovered the Mirror of Galadriel.” he said, still smiling as if nothing at all was wrong.  
  
“Galadriel? Like the Seer?” Bilbo asked, remembering the name from so many times it had been said earlier today.  
  
Gandalf nodded. “Exactly like the Seer. I can also assume that you know what it does?”  
  
“I don’t think that I have, sir.” Bilbo said. His parents’s expressions had not changed due to Gandalf’s arrival. They were still smiling, looking onto the other side of the glass.  
  
“Allow me to give you an idea.” Gandalf said, looking into the mirror himself. “The happiest, most joyous creature on this earth, would be able to stare into that basin, and this mirror, and see only themselves.”  
  
Bilbo thought for a moment. “It shows us what makes us happiest. Whatever that may come to be.”  
  
“Indeed, but at the same time, no.” Gandalf responded. “Galadriel’s Mirror shows us only the deepest thing we desire to see and have in this world. For you, it shows you your family, of whom you have never seen and desperately wish to have. For your friend Bofur, it showed him as a brave and famous warrior for his family and people. For some, it will show money and power, for some, food and friends. Galadriel created this mirror to see into our very hearts and souls. All one needed to do was look into it, and it would be reflected onto the nearest looking glass.”  
  
Bilbo suddenly remembered when he had first found this room during the winter, and a woman’s voice had spoken to him as he tried to touch the water with his ring on. “So, that person speaking to me…that was her?”  
  
“Indeed, it was her spirit. She enters your mind and body when you look into that very water.” Gandalf told him. “But this mirror will never give the looker what they desire, only taunt them with it. I have seen creatures waste their lives away in front of it, desperately wishing to be what they see on the other side. Which is why, all of this is being moved.”  
  
“What?” Bilbo said in sudden surprise. “It can’t be, where…”  
  
“I see. You have become attached to it as well, correct?” Gandalf asked, and Bilbo nodded guiltily. He could still see his mother and father, each filled with joy to see him. He would have to leave them, never see them again. “You must remember, hopes and dreams will only get you so far. If you do not face life with strength and with power, you will not be able to face anything. The basin-mirror will be moved to elsewhere in the castle, but I must advise you to not go looking for it. I believe that you are strong enough to go on without it.”  
  
“But professor…what if I’m not?” Bilbo asked, still looking at his mother, his beautiful mother, who wasn’t real at all.  
  
Gandalf smiled, and stood up from the ground. “I know that you are. And trust when I say that you have not lost them, nor anyone else. The things we lose always return to us in the end.”  
  
Bilbo did not nod, nor shake his head. Instead he stared into the glass, not even the true Mirror of Galadriel. He whispered a short goodbye to his mother and father under his breath. Whatever strength they had in whatever world they were in, he would have to carry with him. He would do it. He wasn’t sure if he could. But, in that moment, he knew that he would.  
  
As Bilbo stood to leave, he wanted to ask Gandalf something. “Professor? Can I ask you a question?”  
  
“Of course, Bilbo. What is it on your mind?”  
  
“What do you see in the mirror?” he asked.  
  
Gandalf paused. “I? I see myself with a new hat. This one is wearing out, and I believe that the patches will only last so much longer.”  
  
“Alright.” Bilbo said. He got the feeling that that may not have been the truth, but in hindsight, it was quite a personal question.  
  
“You should go back to your dormitory.” Gandalf said. “I think you will find some things of much more use waiting for you there.”  
  
He lead Bilbo out the door and away from the magical room, which locked shut behind them. Bilbo then followed his advice and went back up the stairs, feeling a little stronger, despite leaving the mirror behind. As he woke the warrior portrait to let him inside, he could’ve sworn he heard the woman’s voice once more. “Have courage,” she said “and this world will live on.”  
  
On his pillow, as Bilbo found once he pulled back the covers to his bed, was a small wooden box. Upon opening it, he found that it was his ring, the golden ring he’d lost. Attached to it was a handwritten note.  
  
‘Just in case.’


	23. Through the Trapdoor

April arrived, and with it came revision, flowers, and mortal terror. In spite of not having any idea how to stop whoever was planning on stealing the stone, Bilbo had gained a sense of confidence in himself. Instead of running away from the threat, he had decided to face it head-on. Which, for now, involved going over all the details he had with Bofur.  
  
“Back in October, there was the Troll.” Bilbo said, writing down all the details he remembered about their encounter with the beast. “Thranduil showed up a few weeks later with a limp, and taught us about Dragons.”  
  
“Then you almost got bucked off your own broom.” Bofur said, taking a bite of a pastry he’d gotten from the kitchens. “That was before Winter Solstice, right?”  
  
Bilbo nodded. They’d been doing this for a few days now. It was evening in the library, and they had sectioned off a small table from the others studying for exams. Small little pellets of rain fell against the window as they talked and wrote. Fili and Kili had come to visit for a few minutes, and Bilbo had had to pretend he’d been hard at work, revising his Potions material. Never before had he hoped that he would get the chance to do a test, or that he would at least still be alive for it.  
  
“We skipped over the Dragon on the third floor.” Bofur added. “Remember? When you thought Legolas was gonna duel you, and us three accidentally found the Dragon?”  
  
“Right, right, and then Beorn told us about the stone.”  
  
“No, I told us about the stone, Beorn just got me started on it.”  
  
Bilbo had not seen Ori in days, and it worried him. He’d somehow managed to drag himself out of the dark place he’d been in for the last month, but he still hadn’t found the courage to apologize to his friend. Although he still felt bad about pulling his friends into this situation, he knew that he had to accept whatever was going to happen to them. He would do his best to make sure none of them got hurt.  
  
“After the break we found out who the King Under the Mountain was, and how it cursed whoever owned it.” Bilbo wrote down ‘King, cursed’ on his parchment next to January.  
  
“Then you heard Oakenshield arguing with Thranduil about the trapdoor.” Bofur said. “And you told Gandalf a while after.”  
  
“Then there was the whole business with Cinders in February.” Bilbo thought he heard a rumble of thunder come from outside. “And then I saw the thing in the forest.”  
  
“And then everything that happened on Thursday.” Bofur concluded, setting down his quill. “Did we forget anything?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “Everything fits.”  
  
“You’re sure it’s Thranduil?”  
  
“How could it be anyone else?” Bilbo said. A seventh year sitting in the corner suddenly yelped. A small bird came flying out of the chair he’d been sitting on. Fili howled with laughter, as did a few other students. The librarian shushed them with a sharp tone. “He was the one who tried to knock me off my broom. He was arguing with Professor Oakenshield about going back to the trapdoor. No one else would have done that if they weren’t planning to steal it.”  
  
“So, in three days, Thranduil’s going to break in underneath the trapdoor, and steal the Arkenstone.” Bofur concluded. “Wouldn’t Gandalf stop him?”  
  
“He should, but I’m worried that he doesn’t know.” Bilbo wrung his hands in worry. “So, we have to get there first.”  
  
“Wait, we have to what?” Bofur asked suddenly.  
  
It was obvious. If Thranduil wanted to take the stone, and possibly kill for it, they had to take it themselves. “We’ll give it to Gandalf. Tell him it’s not safe here anymore, and that if it says in the castle any longer, it’s going to fall into the wrong hands.”  
  
“Bilbo, we can’t just go under the trapdoor!” Bofur said, eyes wide. “There must be some sort of protection for the stone, not to mention the bloody Dragon standing on top of it.”  
  
“We have to try.” Bilbo thought for a second. “Who’s the one person who’d know how to get behind that Dragon?”  
  
“It’s Beorn’s, isn’t it? But…d’you really think he’d tell us anything more than he already has?” Bofur said.  
  
“It’s worth a shot. He might be mad with us, but if we just explained why we need to know…”  
  
“Need to know what?”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur both looked up. Ori stood a few spaces away from them, holding a stack of books he must’ve been looking to put back. How long had he been listening to them?  
“Oh. Um, hello, Ori.” Bilbo said awkwardly.  
  
“Are you two talking about the stone again?” Ori asked, putting his books down on the counter. Bilbo saw a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages in the stack. “Or is it not my problem?”  
  
Bilbo was about to apologize, but before he could, Bofur took the space. “Thranduil’s going to steal it in a couple of days. Bilbo heard Professor Saruman say it last Thursday. So we’re trying to figure out what to do about it.”  
  
Ori stared at them as if they were creatures who had just wandered out of the lake. Bilbo realized that it had been a very long time since he’d actually talked to him. Well, maybe not as long as it felt. But longer than it should have been. “What?”  
  
“It’s a long story.” Bofur said. “But, we went to find Professor Saruman a few days ago. You know, he teaches Divination? At least I think so, he might just be a kook that lives up there…”  
  
“Why’d you do that?” Ori asked.  
  
“To make that long story short, Elrond told Bilbo that someone’s trying to break into the castle, and that there was a prophecy about him, and-”  
  
“Hang on.” Ori said, and pulled out a chair for himself. “Can I…okay, so, wait, someone’s trying to break in?”  
  
“Elrond took me to his office to tell me.” Bilbo said. He wanted to explain it to Ori to make sure no details got left out, and nothing was unclear about his motives. “He wanted to know about our detention, but when I told him he said that there were…other things happening. I went to Saruman asking about this, um, prophecy, and I think he made one while I was there. So, now we’re trying to figure out how to stop the stone from getting stolen within the next three days.”  
  
There was a silence in which Ori’s eyes began to narrow, as if he was thinking it all over. “So…what’s your plan?”  
  
“Wait, you still want to help?” Bilbo was slightly stunned.  
  
“You were angry at me because I wanted to help, remember?” Ori said. “I’m not about to let everything I’ve done over the year go to waste just because you think I’m too fragile.”  
  
Bilbo felt embarrassed. It was, in a way, true. But he had realized that he really couldn’t try to do anything alone. In his state of shock after the night in the forest, he’d lead himself to believe that all this was his fault, and therefore his problem. But he was just one little Hobbit. He couldn’t stop a teacher by himself, let alone save Hogwarts. It seemed awfully soft to him, but he really needed someone else.  
  
“Ori, I…” he started. “I’m sorry. You…well, I must’ve thought I needed to do it myself. But, coming to think of it, I haven’t done anything else by myself, so…” He shrugged his shoulders. It was a bad apology. He didn’t really know what a good one would be in this situation. “Besides, you’re really clever. That might help us in the long run.”  
  
“That’s not the point, but thank you.” Ori said, and pulled a chair out for himself. “Besides, did you really think I was going to let you go to what looks like certain death alone?”  
Bilbo shook his head. “No, mum.” he said, smiling slightly.  
  
“Hey, you can’t tease him like that!” Bofur said. “That’s what I say!”  
  
“It’s what no one says anymore, because I’m still not your mother.” Ori said. “But thanks for the apology, Bilbo. Now, Thranduil isn’t going to wait until we all get over ourselves. What’s your plan?”  
  
Bilbo couldn’t help but smile full-on now. They were back. All three of them. And now there was no stopping them.  
  
“It’s a work in progress, so don’t take this too heavily.” Bilbo showed Ori his parchment with all the details of the year. “But we want to get underneath the trapdoor before Thranduil does.”  
  
“You mean, you do.” Bofur corrected. “I still think it’s mad.”  
  
“We can try thinking of something else, before we decide on anything that might work.” Ori suggested. “I’ve got a few ideas that might help.”  
  
And so the three of them sat at a table behind a bookshelf in the library, pouring out schemes and ideas for what must have been an hour and half of one more. Bilbo filled Ori in on the prophecy about himself, as well as Saruman’s prediction, and Ori listened intently, as if missing one detail would throw the entire thing off. It was hard to remember every detail of every adventure they’d had since September, but they ended up not needing them. A simple name or word was fine, saying if it had to do with either the Arkenstone or Thranduil.  
  
They sectioned off their area as seventh and fifth-year students left, as the librarian came around to rearrange the shelves, as the rain kept pelting down on the window and as night began to fall. They filled sheets of parchment with plans, some scrapped and some set apart, as well as details and memories, all the while Bilbo feeling like time was running out.  
  
“So, what’ve we got?” Bilbo stepped back and asked after a long time had passed.  
  
“So far, our best ideas are still telling Gandalf again, getting Thranduil expelled, and digging underneath the trapdoor from the outside.” Bofur read off.  
  
“We could still go under.” Bilbo said. “How hard could it be?”  
  
“A Dragon, Bilbo.” Bofur said, sighing. “It’s a Dragon.”  
  
Ori thought about it. “Well, we’ve only run into the Dragon once before. We don’t even know if it’s still there.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t it be? That’s the one thing blocking the stone from the rest of the school, isn’t it?” Bofur asked.  
  
“Gandalf told me there were spells protecting it as well.” Bilbo said, crossing off a detail on the parchment. “He said that the teachers designed them themselves.”  
  
“So…would a teacher know how to get past them?”  
  
“If they made it, I’d bet so.” Bofur said. “We were planning on asking Beorn how to get past the Dragon.”  
  
Ori snorted. “As if he’d tell us anything else.”  
  
“Yes, but if we explained why we needed the information…” Bilbo began, but was cut off by Ori.  
  
“He wouldn’t tell us. Beorn’s not that dim.”  
  
“Where would he even get a Dragon, anyway?” Bofur asked aloud. “It’s not like people go around selling them. Not anyplace I know of, at least.”  
  
“Same place he got Cinders, probably.” Bilbo said passively. Then something struck him. Of course. Of course!  
  
“Wouldn’t you say, that it’s a bit strange that Beorn manages to get a baby Dragon when he wants it the most?” he asked the two. “He said he won it in a bet, right? And that the person had been itching to get it out of his hands?”  
  
“That is quite strange, you’re right.” Ori thought. “Especially since unauthorized Dragon breeding is technically illegal.”  
  
It was all coming together in Bilbo’s mind, and the picture it was making wasn’t exactly pretty. “The Dragon guarding the stone was already here before Cinders, right? What if…” And the last detail fell into place.  
  
Bilbo stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his inkpot. He rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into his bag. “We need to go down to Beorn’s hut, right now.”  
  
“What’re you onto?” Bofur asked, scrambling to follow him. Bilbo was striding quickly out of the library, stuffing his stuff into his bag as he went. They couldn’t waste any time, not after what he’d just figured out. Ori and Bofur followed him down the steps and outside into the rainy courtyard, where they ran across the wooden bridge, the valley below dark and dreary underneath the cloudy sky.  
  
“Bilbo, what are you doing?” Ori whispered as Bilbo rapped on Beorn’s door. “We haven’t thought this through!”  
  
“Trust me. Please.” Bilbo said as Galard began to growl from behind the door. “I have a hunch.”  
  
The door creaked open, and Beorn stood there, holding Galard back with a rope. Bilbo was glad to see that the half-Warg was not injured. “Oh, hello.” he greeted them. “It’s late. You should be in your common room by now.”  
  
“Beorn, I have to ask you something about Cinders.” Bilbo said. “Um, may we come in?”  
  
Beorn looked skeptical, but stood aside. The three entered, and Bilbo sat down next to the windowsill. The first thing he noticed was the fact that the hut looked to be shambles, messier than he’d ever seen it before. Perhaps Galard had been ripping things apart, Bilbo tried to think to himself.  
  
“What was it that was so important that made you come here?” Beorn asked them as soon as Ori had brushed dust off of a chair and sat down.  
  
“I need to ask you a question about Cinders.” Bilbo said. “Where did you get the egg?”  
  
Beorn’s face fell. “I won it.” he said. “In Dale. This is none of your business, Bilbo.”  
  
“Do you remember who you won it from?” Bilbo pressed for an answer again. “What did they look like?”  
  
“Bilbo, I’m sure you shouldn’t be worried about any of this. Cinders is in Moira now, there’s no need to worry about how I got him.” Beorn said.  
  
“Beorn, this is important, can you please just tell me?” Bilbo was beginning to get impatient. He felt rushed, as if if he didn’t find out right now Thranduil might as well just dance out of the castle with the stone.  
  
Beorn paused. “I don’t know why you want to know, but…I don’t know what they looked like. They kept their hood up the whole time.”  
  
“What did they tell you about the egg?” Bilbo asked. He could see Ori and Bofur looking a mixture of skeptical and pensive.  
  
“They didn’t. Didn’t say anything about it except that it was too much to handle for them, and they were desperate to get rid of it. So we played for it, I won, and they said they they wanted it to go into the right hands.” Beorn explained.  
  
“What did they do then?” Bilbo was trying to keep his voice calm.  
  
“Well, they asked me about my job, what I looked after, that sort of thing. I said I was gamekeeper for Hogwarts, so a baby Dragon wouldn’t be that hard to take care of. Besides, I’d already taken care of Sol, so what’s another Dragon?”  
  
Ori suddenly gasped. “You told them about Sol?”  
  
“At least, I think I remember saying that.” Beorn said, scratching his head. “It’s become a little blurry. It had been a long night, I’d been out for a while…”  
  
“Did they seem interested in Sol at all?” Bilbo continued asking.  
  
Beorn nodded. “They wanted to know where I got him. I told them he wasn’t mine, but I’ve been taking care of him. He seems threatening, but he isn’t half terrible. You can calm him down with a bit of music. Stops him from spewing fire, trying to claw you to death, even puts him to sleep, the poor thing-” Beorn suddenly looked horrified. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget you heard me say that.”  
  
But it was too late. Bilbo had gotten everything he’d needed, and it was just as he’d suspected in the first place. He jumped down from the windowsill. “Thank you. So sorry to bother you again.”  
  
“Never mind, now get out.” Beorn growled, obviously annoyed at his slip of information. “Whatever you three are up to, it can’t be good. Go back to your common room, get some sleep.”  
  
He opened the door for them, and Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori all ran out, fast as they could to get to the courtyard. They didn’t speak the whole way, Bilbo still processing all this. Once out of the rain, Bilbo explained everything.  
  
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Whoever it was that gave Beorn the Dragon egg wanted to know how to get past the trapdoor. They knew he wanted a Dragon, and they knew how to get all the information out of him…it must’ve been either Thranduil or Smaug underneath that cloak. We need to tell Gandalf, right now.” he said, watching Bofur and Ori’s eyes widen.  
  
“But what if he doesn’t believe us?” Bofur asked.  
  
“We’ve got no time for that, we have to go now.” Bilbo pushed open the door to the Entrance Hall. “If Thranduil knows how to get past Sol already, he could be down there right-”  
  
“What are you three doing?”  
  
Bilbo stopped dead as quick footsteps came behind them. It was Professor Elrond, dressed in his bedclothes and holding a lantern. “It’s nearly curfew, why aren’t you in Gryffindor tower?”  
  
“We’re sorry, Professor, we were just going back there and…” Bilbo started, but Ori interrupted him.  
  
“Professor, we need to see Professor Gandalf.” Ori said. “It’s urgent, we can’t wait!”  
  
But Elrond shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you cannot. Gandalf is not here.”  
  
“What?” Bilbo was shocked. It couldn’t be, the headmaster had to be here, he couldn’t have left now, of all times!  
  
“He received word from the White Council that he was needed immediately.” Elrond said. “I expect that your needs can wait for one week.”  
  
“One week?” Bilbo said frantically. “Professor, we need him now, it’s…it’s important…it’s about the Arkenstone!”  
  
Whatever Elrond had been expecting Bilbo to say, it certainly had not been that. The lantern dropped from his hand, shattering on the ground below. “What did you just say?”  
  
Bilbo gulped. He had not meant for it to slip out. “The…the Arkenstone, Professor.” he spluttered. “Someone’s going to steal it. We need to tell Gandalf.”  
  
“You cannot. Professor Gandalf will return in a week. Now, I do not understand how in the world you found out about the Arkenstone, but it is none of your business. No one can steal it. It is well-protected, I assure you.” Elrond said finally, waving his wand to pick up the shards of glass. “Now, get back to your dormitories, and do not go back out. The only thing you should be worried about is you examinations.”  
  
Elrond escorted Bilbo and Bofur back to Gryffindor Tower, leaving Ori to return to the Hufflepuff common room by himself. “You two aren’t in trouble again, are you…oh, good evening, Professor!” the warrior portrait greeted them. “I hope that you are well.”  
  
“Éowyn, please. Make sure these two do not exit this common room once more tonight. Or during any night, for that matter.” Elrond said, the warrior portrait swinging open to let them inside.  
  
Once in bed, Bilbo could not sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind racing. Thranduil could be down there right now, plotting his crime or even carrying it out. He didn’t want to know what would happen if they missed their chance to stop him, but he already knew. No one would be able to stay here any longer. Hogwarts would close, Bilbo would be sent home, and who knew what else would happen after that? He couldn’t let the Arkenstone be lost. No other plan would work. They had to go down there.

  


“So, it’s agreed, then. We go tonight.”  
  
No one was in the mood for breakfast the next morning. The rest of the Gryffindor first-years were sharing notes, chatting excitedly, and revising for exams while Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori were finalizing their plan to stop Thranduil. Whilst no one was perfectly ready or comfortable with it, the only other option was to get down there before Thranduil did, and take the stone themselves. Then they’d figure out who to give it to, and what to do about the rest of the situation.  
  
“We can’t risk any more time.” Ori said. “Bilbo’s right. We can’t wait around to see what happens if Thranduil gets his hands on it.”  
  
“There’s got to be another way.” Bofur said. “I’d do it, but…I’m starting to see why you were worried about us, Bilbo.”  
  
“We don’t have a choice anymore. If the stone gets away, Smaug will come back. You trust what the Eagle said, don’t you?”  
  
“I wasn’t there, Bilbo. You can’t exactly blame me for being a little nervous.” Bofur said. He sighed. “I’ll do it. It can’t just be you two on your own.”  
  
“We’ll meet next to Elmira tonight, at midnight.” Ori said. “Bilbo, bring your ring.”  
  
“We’ll need to put Sol to sleep.” Bilbo said. “Do either of you play an instrument?”  
  
There was silence. “I can whistle.” Bofur suggested.  
  
“Good enough. Now, let’s-”  
  
Suddenly, Ori tugged on Bilbo sleeve. He shifted his eyes to the left, and Bilbo followed them. Thranduil was standing right there. Or, rather now, he was standing right in front of them.  
  
“Good morning.” he greeted them, though it was with a cold tone. “I see that you have not eaten anything. You should be getting your energy…especially at a time like this.”  
  
Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, though he was unsure what it was going to be. It didn’t matter, however, since Thranduil did not give him the place to speak.  
  
“Mr Glorison, I do not believe this is your house table?” he asked Ori, in an oddly polite tone. “Do you have something of importance to tell to Baggins and Tarvemson?”  
  
“N-no, sir, I was just…”  
  
“No need.” Thranduil said. “Perhaps it had something to do with your little twilight wander last night?”  
  
Bilbo stopped. How did he know that? Had it been Elrond? Or had he been watching them? He felt a twinge of pain on his forehead.  
  
“You will want to be more careful. Hanging about, walking around whenever you please, people might think you’re up to something.” Bilbo thought he saw a smirk on the teacher’s face. “Any more of these night-time wanders, and I will expel you myself. Good morning.” And then he stalked off, towards the head table and away from the three.  
  
Bofur breathed a sigh of relief, or rather a sigh of exasperation. “That was…”  
  
“Strange.” Bilbo said, standing up from the table. “Let’s go.”  
  
It was a Tuesday, meaning they could at least look forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts before double Charms. But during the morning, Bilbo’s mind simply could not focus. Whilst Professor Hilda tried to teach them about the many uses for Puffapods, he was busy thinking of what might await them underneath the trapdoor. Would there be beasts? Spells? Puzzles? There was no way he could know.  
  
“Psst. Bilbo, can you give me the mortar pestle?” Ruiwen asked him, but he ended up handing them a spiked bush.  
  
Once he was done with picking the needles out of his hand, Bilbo headed to his Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Professor Oakenshield had been showing them spells to use in a duel, and he was wondering if they would ever get to test them out on something. But, when he walked into the classroom, he was instead greeted by someone he did not expect.  
  
“Take out your books, we’ll be doing chapters eighteen to twenty-one.” It was Balin the Nearly-Headless, the ghost of Gryffindor house. He was sitting - or, rather floating above - Oakenshield’s desk as students filed into class.  
  
“Where’s Oakenshield?” Bilbo asked.  
“He’s fallen ill.” Balin told him. “A rather nasty case of…well, I don’t actually know what’s he’s fallen ill to. But he’s not here today.”  
  
“Are all the teachers just leaving?” Bofur asked Bilbo as they sat down. “Where’s he gone off to?”  
  
Bilbo didn’t know what was going on, but he had a rather bad feeling about it all. They spent the class reading and discussing chapters on water spirits and how to repel them, before they were let out for lunch. The rest of the day Bilbo spent in the Charms classroom, practicing how to turn a bar of soap into a glass of water and back again. As soon as classes ended, Bilbo returned to the common room, and tried to take his mind off the task to come by doing his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.  
  
Time took forever to pass. Bilbo finished his homework, and played Creature’s Chess against Fili and Kili (who he beat, but just barely). They ate dinner in the Great Hall, and Bilbo tried to ignore the dark clouds hovering above him on the charmed ceiling. He skimmed through books in the library, trying to find spells that might be of use. He walked around the castle, spoke to the portraits, he even had time to revise his homework, all the while worried that Thranduil might have beat them to it already.  
  
It took what felt like years, but eventually, midnight came. Both Bilbo and Bofur had not bothered to go upstairs for anything but Bilbo’s golden ring, and so they were both sitting on the couch in front of the hearth when the clock began to chime.  
  
“We should go.” Bilbo said, and the second he did his heart started racing. He slipped on the ring and grabbed Bofur’s hand, turning the two invisible. They slipped past the warrior portrait, who was telling one of the Orcs she was battling an amazing tale of a rabbit that managed to kill a Hippogriff. Bilbo looked out the window as they walked down the stairs. The stars were shining, blue and silver as always. It was nice to know that some things might never change, he thought to himself.  
  
Soon enough, they arrived on the third floor. Elmira Elfenstone was fast asleep, although her face was still creepily in the same position. Ori was waiting for them there already, lantern in hand. “So…where do we go from here?” Bofur asked, as Bilbo slid off the ring and the two because visible again.  
  
“Let’s try the Carvings Room.” Bilbo said, remembering how they found the Dragon the last time.  
  
They continued down the stairs, Bilbo thinking he heard footsteps every other second. By the time they got to the Entrance Hall, Bilbo was having second thoughts. They turned the corner to push open the Great Hall doors, when all of a sudden, someone spoke behind them.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Bombur was behind them, still on the stairs, holding a light at the tip of his wand. Bilbo nearly smacked his head on the wall in his abrupt stop.  
  
“Bombur, what are you doing here?” Bofur asked his younger brother. “Go back!”  
  
But Bombur shook his head. He looked extremely pale, as if if you touched him he might fall over from fright. “You…you can’t go out. You’ll get caught again.”  
  
“We won’t, don’t worry.” Bilbo told him. They didn’t have time for this. They needed to get to the trapdoor right now.  
  
“You’ll get yourselves in trouble. You’ll get hurt. I heard you…talking.” Bombur said, coming down the stairs closer to the three. “Saying that you were going to stop something getting stolen. But you can’t. I…I won’t let you!”  
  
“Can you do something?” Bilbo whispered to Bofur. “He’s your brother.”  
  
Bofur sighed. He said something to Bombur in Khuzdul, but got no response. “Bombur. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Let’s go upstairs, come on, I’ll take you back.”  
  
“No!” Bombur protested, loud enough to make Bilbo worry someone had heard him. “You’re going to do something stupid, I can tell. And…and…I don’t want you to.”  
  
“Bombur, you’re the one doing something stupid, let it go.” Bofur said threateningly.  
  
“We’ll be fine, I swear.” Bilbo told him.  
  
“I’m not a child! I know what you’re doing!” Bombur said, and Bilbo could see him shaking. “I…I’ll tell Elrond! I’ll fight you!”  
  
“Bofur, please.” Ori whispered desperately.  
  
“Just go back to bed, please, Bom. When you wake up it’ll be over, we’ll be fine.” Bofur tried again, but still Bombur refused to move.  
  
“No! You’re going to get hurt. But…you…you can’t get hurt too!” Bombur spluttered.  
  
Ori sighed. “Bombur, I’m really sorry about this.” he said, and raised his wand. “Petrificus Totalus!”  
  
All of a sudden, Bombur froze in place, his body stiffening and swaying. Ori ran to catch him as he fell over, stiff as a board and hard as rock.  
  
“What did you do to him?” Bofur asked, terrified.  
  
“Full Body-Bind Curse.” Ori said. “He’s not hurt, at least, I don’t think so. Bilbo, can you help me with this? He’s a little heavier than I expected.”  
  
Bilbo and Bofur both helped to stuff Bombur into the broom closet, standing him up next to a few feather dusters. “He’ll wake up soon.” Ori said. “We really do have to go now.”  
  
Bilbo agreed, and in a few seconds they were in the Great Hall, opening the door to the Carvings Room. Bilbo had forgotten all about this room’s existence from the start of the year when he hid away from Radagast inside it. But as he entered, memories returned to him. Statues and tapestries still lined the walls, and he was still in awe of its beauty. If he were not supposed to be going to meet a dangerous Dragon, he would have liked to stay in here a little longer.  
  
The painting of the Prince of Men was still there, thankfully. Ori told it to be quick with the riddle, which, of course, he solved in around ten seconds (‘I may hurt you unbearably, but I can never he held nor touched’, to which the answer was ‘words’). “Ah, I do remember you, young sire!” he said as Ori answered. “You were the one who wished to tear apart my canvas many nights ago!” Ori avoided his gaze.  
  
As they began to climb through it, something caught Bilbo’s eye. “Wait!” he called out, and grabbed a silver reed pipe off the ground. “We might need this.”  
  
As they exited the portrait on the other side, Bilbo found himself in a very dark and grimy hallway. Cobwebs were everywhere, and the only light came from Ori’s lantern. Slowly, they walked forward, no one saying a word but still saying everything through their silence. As they turned a corner, Bilbo saw a large locked door. He sighed. There was no going back now.  
  
Ori pointed his wand at the lock. “Alohomora.” he whispered, and there was a small clicking sound, much too little to be keeping a Dragon and ages-old power behind it. “Ready?” he asked them.  
  
“Not at all.” Bofur said, taking the reed pipe from Bilbo. Ori pushed open the door. Bilbo shut his eyes. They braced themselves for fire, claws, roars of unbelievable terror…but, strangely, the only sound they heard was a sweet melody.  
  
Opening his eyes, Bilbo saw Sol, a huge black Dragon with blazing orange eyes and spikes, fast asleep on the ground. A tall harp stood in the corner of the room, its strings plucking themselves to a beautiful and charming song. But despite the beautiful music, Bilbo felt his heart sink. Thranduil had gotten there before them.  
  
“It’s asleep.” Bofur said confusedly. “He’s already here.”  
  
“We shouldn’t.” Ori said. But Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“We’ve still got a chance. Come on, where’s that door…oh, right.” He walked on the tips of his toes over to where the trapdoor laid, only mere inches away from Sol’s enormous head and fangs.  
  
It took all his strength to pull open the door. He pushed it back and out of the way, but looking down didn’t exactly make him feel comfortable. It was pitch black, darkness the only thing he could see down there. He had no idea what the landing might be, if he might fall onto a bed of pillows or into a pit of fire. To make matters worse, he saw no ladder - the only way to get in would be to jump.  
  
“So…who wants to go first?” Bofur asked. No one answered. The harp continued playing its song, and Bilbo heard Sol exhale through his nostrils. A blast of air came at the three of them, who coughed and spit as it passed by.  
  
“I’ll go.” Bilbo volunteered. “I was the one who got us into this, so if it’s a dead end down there, I’ll find it first.”  
  
Ori and Bofur both looked at him with worry. “If I don’t shout back to you, leave. Go to Elrond and send a letter to Gandalf. Tell them the Arkenstone’s in danger.”  
  
“We’re still coming with you.” Bofur said. “We won’t need to do that.”  
  
Bilbo looked down into the darkness below. Once he entered it, there would be no returning. It was time to be brave, he thought. All those adventures he’d wanted to have were nothing compared to what he was about to do. If his aunt could see him now, she would most likely die of fright. But he was not his aunt. He was Bilbo Baggins, and he was going to save Hogwarts.  
  
Bilbo lowered himself into the trapdoor, legs first. As soon as he had half of his body hanging over the opening, the music suddenly stopped. Panic filled him. “Go!” Bofur shouted, and he let go. Before he knew it, darkness surrounded him, and he was falling, falling, falling…


	24. Below The Ground

Instead of the hard landing he had been bracing himself for, Bilbo landed on something that was neither a pillow nor a rock. Instead, it stretched out as it caught him, bouncing him back up into a steady place atop it. As soon as he’d gotten himself together, he took out his wand.  
  
“Lumos.” he muttered. A tiny light shone from his wand. But it gave him no further details as to where he had landed.  
  
“Bilbo!” Ori called from above. “Are you alright?”  
  
“I’m fine. It’s alright, you can jump!” he shouted back, moving aside so as to give Ori and Bofur room to fall.  
  
A tiny squeal and a thump on the stretchy surface later, and Ori was in sight once more. Bofur came down last, his hat nearly falling off as he did.  
  
“That was a lot better than I thought it might be.” Bofur noted, going to stand up.  
  
“Wait!” Ori said. “What are we sitting on?”  
  
Bilbo tried shining his light further to the surface, but it gave him no clues. “I’m not sure. It’s a little sticky, isn’t it?”  
  
“Lucky it was here, right?” Bofur said.  
  
“Lucky?” Ori shrieked suddenly, and jumped up. Suddenly, Bilbo felt something stick to his arm. He went to brush it off, but as he did, something stuck to that arm, as well. His wand fell out of his hand, and as it rolled over on the surface, he saw that what they were sitting on was a suspended floor made entirely of spiderwebs.  
  
“Um, Bilbo…” Bofur’s legs were ensnared in the cobwebs as well, which seemed to be winding itself around all three of them quickly. “How do we get out of this?”  
  
A web had started to wring itself around Bilbo’s neck and torso, making it much harder to breathe in the damp air. “I don’t know!” he shouted. “Ori, do something!”  
  
Ori appeared to be in a state of panic. “I…I think I might remember something from Herbology…” His legs were ensnared as well, but his arms were still free. “Bilbo, give me your wand!”  
  
“That’s a little out of the question, isn’t it?” Bofur said, trying to get free from the web that had wrapped itself around his shoulders.  
  
“Sorry, um…oh!” he shouted in sudden realization. “It’s a Great Spiderweb! We learned about them three weeks ago!”  
  
“Great to know that you pay attention in Herbology.” Bofur said. “Bilbo, you alright?”  
  
He was not, in fact, alright. The spiderwebs had been twisting and and tightening themselves on Bilbo’s neck, and with every second it was getting harder to breathe. He tried to flail his arms, but found those held down as well.  
  
“Kill it!” Bofur shouted. “How d’you kill it?”  
  
“Be quiet, I’m trying to remember.” Ori said. “Just relax for a second.”  
  
“Relax?” Bofur laughed. “How can I relax with these bloody things making me into a fly?”  
  
“She kept them in the dark…maybe they like the dark…” Ori muttered to himself. “Should I light a fire?”  
  
“Whatever’ll get us out of here fastest!” Bofur shouted.  
  
“Calm down! Lumos Maxima!” Ori pointed his wand at the cobwebs below his feet. Bilbo watched as they shied away from the light, and he felt the grip on his throat loosen. He gasped for air as it let go of his arms, and he was able to wriggle free.  
  
“Thanks.” he said to Ori, who was still shining the light on the cobwebs. “We should go.”  
  
“Go where?” Bofur said, handing Bilbo his wand. He looked down. “Oh.”  
  
Their landing place was falling away from them, and Bilbo felt his feet slip. Within a few seconds, he lost his balance, and they all fell down once more, this time onto a much harder landing.  
  
“Where are we?” Bofur said, once he’d stood up again. There was no light except for their lit wands, and Bilbo soon realized he was freezing cold. They appeared to be in some sort of cave, damp and dark, with trickles of water running down the walls and pooling at their feet. The air smelled of seawater and lemons, a strange combination for a place as strange as this was. As Bilbo walked forward, he heard water squish underneath his shoes, and echoed all across the stone walls.  
  
“We must be miles beneath the castle.” Bilbo said.  
  
“Where do we go from here?” Ori asked.  
  
Bilbo could see a faint, dying light up ahead. “There.” he pointed. “I think that might be a door.” The three walked together slowly and surely, Bilbo keeping on the lookout for anything that might attack them. They had only been underneath the trapdoor less than five minutes, and already they’d come close to defeat. Bilbo had not really expected this to be easy. It would not surprise him if they would come face-to-face with another Dragon up ahead.  
  
“How many defences and puzzles were put into place down here, anyways?” he wondered to himself. Surely they couldn’t go on forever. Hopefully, there were tricky enough to stump Thranduil before he could get to the end of the cavern. He couldn’t help but wonder where the stone was, if it was even still here. Would it be hidden in a chest with only one key? Would it be guarded by three fire-breathing Dragons? Or would it simply be hidden inside one of the many cave walls?  
  
Now that they were actually down here, he was beginning to rethink his plan. Once they found the stone, he could see no actual way to return to the school. That was assuming they found the stone, of course. They could end up searching for hours, maybe even a full day before they found it, or without luck. Or the defences could prove deadly, and one of them could get injured. What would they do then? Bilbo was beginning to feel terrible. He hadn’t thought this out as well as he thought he had.  
  
Bilbo’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of chains clinking from behind the door they’d finally arrived at. Ori had to hold out his arm to stop Bilbo from walking straight into it. “Can you hear something?” Ori asked.  
  
Bilbo nodded. More sounds of something rattling came from the door. A chill ran up his spine. “What is it?”  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Can’t tell.”  
  
The three continued staring at the door, none of them offering to open it. Bilbo could tell they were all feeling the same emotions of fear and bewilderment, not to mention the fact that they had just nearly been suffocated by seemingly-sentient spiderwebs. But they had no time to lose. Thranduil could be escaping with the stone any minute now. He pushed the wooden door open, and suddenly his eyes flooded with light.  
  
Squinting to see, Bilbo now heard the sound of a thousand butterflies flapping their wings wildly. But as he opened them, it was not butterflies he saw, but merely pairs of wings flying around quicker than he could tell what they were attached to. A rather large and fancy chandelier hung on the ceiling of the room, with what looked like a thousand bulbs of light attached to it, illuminating the room with a beautiful glow. Bilbo almost couldn’t believe he was in the same place he was in just a minute ago.  
  
“Wow.” he heard Bofur mutter. Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo spotted a large door, with a serpent carved into it. Without thinking, he ran across the room towards it. He half expected to be thrown to the ground, or for the wings to attack him, but nothing happened. Instead, he arrived at the door, and pulled the handle. Nothing happened, once more.  
  
“Alohomora!” he pointed his wand at the golden lock. It wouldn’t budge. “How do we get out?” he asked Bofur and Ori, who were both standing at the entrance.  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Try getting one of these, I suppose?”  
  
“What?” Bilbo asked, Bofur motioning upwards. The glittering wings were more in focus now, and Bilbo could at last see what they were attached to. They were keys, at least a thousand of them, all fluttering around the room, some with grace, some simply drifting.  
  
“One of them has got to open the door.” Ori said. “But…I can’t tell from down here.”  
  
“Would it be easier up there?” Bilbo asked, staring at the keys for anything that looked like it might fit inside the lock.  
  
“Don’t be stupid, we can’t-” Bofur began, but then stopped himself. His eyes darted to the corner of the room suddenly. “There!” he pointed. Sitting against the wall was a broomstick, badly damaged and beaten, and nothing special.  
  
“What about it?” Ori asked. Then he, too, stopped himself from speaking. “Of course? Though, that does seem a little ridiculous…”  
  
“What are you on about?”  
  
“Bilbo, you play Quidditch.” Bofur said, walking over to the wall and taking the broom. “You could get up there and find the key!”  
  
“What? Are you…” Bilbo began to stammer, but Bofur did have a point. Perhaps it would be easier to find the key from a place higher above the flying keys. He would fly it up to the ceiling, and keep a lookout for a key that looked like it might fit. “Alright, I’ll do it.”  
  
Suddenly, a groan came from behind the door. Bilbo froze. The sound stopped as soon as it started, but he had been shaken already. “Let’s go.” Bofur said, and pushed the broom into Bilbo’s hands.  
  
He took a deep breath. It was not that he wasn’t confident in his Quidditch skills, it was simply that once he got up there, how would he be able to find the key? But Bofur was right, they had no time. He swung his leg over the broom, and sat as he would getting into position for a match, ready to catch the Snitch, which, in this case, was a key. However, usually in Quidditch matches, he would chase the Snitch, rather than the Snitch chasing him.  
  
He thought this because, as soon as he kicked off from the ground, every single key in the room stopped fluttering gracefully, and darted straight for him. Ori gasped and Bilbo kicked his legs, soaring forward as a thousand keys chased after him, some colliding with his back already. He winced as their sharp ends dug into him.  
  
Any thoughts of finding the correct key left his mind as soon as he was being pursued. He did everything he could to dodge them, avoid them, chase them off, but to little avail. “They’re cursed!” he shouted to Bofur and Ori, who were looking on helplessly. “They won’t stop chasing me!”  
  
“Have you found it yet?” Bofur shouted back.  
  
“Does it look like I have?” Bilbo batted away a small glass one with his hand. Suddenly, he realized something. “They’re all different! I think I have to knock them out of the way!”  
  
So he continued to fly around the room, the keys swarming like flies to a pile of mud around his body. Whenever he got close, he lunged out with his arm and smacked a few of them out of the air. Some of the smaller ones fell to the ground, while the larger ones simply shook themselves off, and went straight back to pursuing him. The room itself was only tall, not large, and so he found himself flying in circles, up and down, the same direction being trailed by the enchanted keys. He nearly knocked over Ori as he made a sharp downward turn in a failed attempt to lose the keys.  
  
“Bilbo, there’s too many!” Ori said, as soon as he had straightened himself up again. “You won’t find anything like that?”  
  
“Have either of you got a better idea?” Bilbo asked him. He was pulling off every trick in the book to rid himself of these keys, but they seemed to know better. He made a mental note to suggest this as a new form of Quidditch to Nori if they got out of here.  
  
“Maybe it’s old?” Ori suggested. “The door looks rotted.”  
  
Bilbo turned his eyes to the door, if only for a second. The silver serpent carving caught his eye, glinting in the chandelier’s light. Suddenly, he had an idea. “Ori, you’re right! Well, sort of.” Another key attempted to poke his eye out, and he swatted it away just in time. “The door, it’s got that carving! The one we’re looking for has a snake on it!”  
  
“Have you seen it yet?” Bofur asked.  
  
Bilbo shook his head. He thrust the broom forward, nearly smashing into the wall but avoiding it just as five keys hit him in the shoulder. He grabbed two of them, both made of emerald. “What if I knocked it down?”  
  
“You haven’t, there it is!” Bofur called, pointing up to the chandelier. Bilbo had to squint his eyes to look, but yes, there it was indeed - an old wooden key, with a silver carving of a serpent across the teeth. Quickly, he shot to it, the other keys following in his wake, spiralling upwards, upwards, until it seemed like he might have been able to fly out of the room. The old key was slow, and could barely keep its wings moving by the time Bilbo got to it. With a quick swish of his hand, he took ahold of it. Unfortunately, in finishing the task, it seemed he’d angered the charmed keys, which increased their speed so fast he nearly took one to the face.  
  
“Throw it!” Ori shouted, holding out his hands. Bilbo wound back his hand and threw the wooden key hard as he could, diving down to avoid the shower of keys. Ori grabbed it out of the air and began to dash for the door, Bofur following his lead. Bilbo watched as Ori jammed the wooden key inside the lock, hearing a satisfying click come soon after. The door was flung open, and Ori and Bofur ran straight through it.  
  
Turning sharply, Bilbo saw his chance. With a kick, he sped straight forward, where Bofur was holding the door open and shouting for him to fly faster. “Duck!” he shouted, and he flew right through the doorway, Bofur slamming it shut the second after. Unfortunately for Bilbo, the room they were now standing in was a very narrow hallway, and he ran right into the wall, toppling off his room as it fell out of the air. From behind the now closed door came the sound of a thousand keys all crashing into the wall, such as Bilbo had.  
  
“Bilbo, are you alright?” Ori rushed over to him.  
  
“You were great!” Bofur congratulated as soon as Bilbo stood back on his feet. “That was close, though.”  
  
“Yes, I hope the next ones won’t be quite like that.” Bilbo said. The three of them stared down the hallway in which they’d entered. It was lit by torches on both sides of the walls, which allowed Bilbo to see the floor more clearly than the previous one. However, there seemed to be no door at the end, or at least as far as Bilbo could see. They could only continue walking until they found an exit, he supposed.  
  
“How much further does this place go on for?” Bofur asked once they’d begun to walk forward.  
  
“This must have been here in secret for ages.” Ori said, staring at the dusty torches. “I haven’t heard of anything underneath the school in any books. They must have used it for something else before…”  
  
“Maybe it was a hideout.” Bilbo said. “Or extra classrooms.”  
  
“Who would want to teach in a place as stuffy as this?” Bofur said. “I’ll bet it was a History of Magic class. That would explain all the dreariness.”  
  
They continued on, walking down the hallway and talking a little, about what puzzles may end up in front of them next, or what these passageways might have been used for in the past. The topic of actually getting to the stone was left untouched for the most part, except for when Bilbo asked if they truly knew where the stone might be. “These caverns must end somewhere.” Ori replied. “It would make the most sense for it to be hidden at the end.”  
  
“But what if it’s a maze?” Bofur asked.  
  
“Then we’ll find our way out. I’ve memorized a messaging charm in case any one of us gets lost.” Ori said. “Besides that, we should just keep going.”  
  
And so they did. They kept going, and going, and going…until Bilbo began to wonder if they were going the right way. Every time they turned a corner, the path that sprawled out in front of them looked the same as the one they’d come from. Even the torches were in the exact same spots. Bilbo began counting them: twelve per hallway, six on each side, each blazing orange and red in the dreary light.  
  
“Erm…are you sure we’re going the right way?” he asked after a while of walking, in which they’d all fallen silent a long time ago.  
  
“I’m not sure about anything, Bilbo. It looks like we’re going somewhere, at the least.” Ori said.  
  
And so on the next corner they turned, Bilbo counted the torches again. Twelve, with six on each side, red and orange flames licking the sides of the stone walls. “The lights are the same, the exact same as the last path.”  
  
“Maybe whoever designed this place likes to keep things symmetrical.” Bofur suggested, but Bilbo could tell he was feeling uneasy about it as well.  
  
And so they went down another hallway, and sure enough, there were twelve torches, six on each side. “Maybe we should turn back.” Bilbo thought.  
  
Ori turned around to see what was behind them. But, as Bilbo saw, there was nothing, only the same hallway in which they’d been walking for at least twenty minutes now. “Do either of you remember how many turns we made?”  
  
Both Bilbo and Bofur shook their heads. A sinking feeling began to root itself inside Bilbo. They were lost, miles beneath the school, in the dead of night, searching for the Arkenstone. Bofur was right: it was a maze, and Bilbo couldn’t see a way to find their way out. They could always try going back the way they’d come…except for the fact that there was no way to tell where they’d come from….  
  
“There’s got to be an exit.” Bofur said. “Another door, like the one we found to the keys.”  
  
“We should keep going.” Ori said. “Chances are, we’ll find it eventually.”  
  
Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but just as he did, the sound of low grumbling and scratching came from behind him.  
  
All three of them froze. “What was that?” Ori asked in a sharp whisper.  
  
No one knew how to answer. No one could have followed them down here, could they have? The scratching sounded again, this time accompanied by a growl and snarl, sounding almost like a dog. No one moved or said a word when it happened again. Bilbo tightened his grip around his wand, despite it trembling with fear, trying to remember the jinx he’d been taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts a few weeks ago, as another snarl came from right behind his back.  
  
Suddenly, Bofur gasped. “Don’t look.” he whispered to Bilbo, his eyes wide with what Bilbo could only assume was fear. “Bilbo. Run.”  
  
Just as he said that, a howl came from down the hall, and Bilbo whipped his head around to see. Oh, how he wished he didn’t. A pack of Wargs were right behind them, matted brown fur covering their bodies that looked like a deformed Wolf. Bilbo could almost see his reflection in their teeth, jagged and sharp and perfectly white, ears sticking out of their head like spikes, and eyes a disgusting dark shade of yellow. But appearance mattered very little when Bilbo heard them howl again, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine, and unrooted him from the spot so that he could run as far as possible from the horrible creatures.  
  
The three took off without any further notice, the Warg pack following them in close pursuit. Any energy Bilbo had lost from the room of keys had instantly been regained, as they turned a corner, trying to shake the Wargs off of their path. Bilbo saw Ori cast a spell with red sparks, hitting one Warg on the nose. It was sent flying backwards, landing on the ground with a thud. But, and to Bilbo’s horror, it simply got back up and started running after them again.  
  
“How do we get out of here?” Bofur shouted.  
  
“Find the door!” Bilbo shouted back. The Wargs were barking, a rough and loud sound that chilled Bilbo’s very bones. He’d only ever seen drawings of these creatures, and Galard was half Warg, but none of those even compared to the true sight. They were almost as tall as him, and they could take three of Bilbo’s longest strides in just one of theirs. They looked like they might have been pets to a lord of evil in a time long past, steeds tall enough to be ridden into battle to vanquish anything that opposed them. And, in this case, that was them.  
  
Bilbo casted a trip jinx on the Wargs as they turned another corner. Their only hope was finding the door out of the maze in time, and that depended on luck entirely. If they got tired out before they could find it, they’d surely be torn to pieces by the Wargs. “Levicorpus!” Bilbo heard Ori shout, but the jinx missed its mark and ricocheted off the cavern wall instead. Bilbo ducked as it hit two Wargs, and they were lifted into the air by their legs. He heard Bofur shout as a Warg came dangerously close to his leg, its teeth snapping furiously. They had to get out of here, and they had to do it now.  
  
“There! I can see something!” Ori suddenly shouted. He stopped in place for a second, before Bilbo grabbed his arm and pulled him along. “I saw a door! There’s a way out!”  
  
“Bilbo, look out!” Bofur called as silver sparks came raining out of his wand and onto the Wargs closest to them. Ice began to form around the Wargs legs, and Bilbo watched as they slipped and fell. “Turn around!”  
  
Bilbo didn’t have time to ask why, he just did. Turning to face the Wargs, he darted away from them, and turned back to where Ori had said he’d seen the door. And sure enough, there was a large black door with the head of a lion carved into it. He made a dash for it, Bofur and Ori following close behind. The path was narrow and yet the Wargs followed, their jaws snapping and snarling.  
  
“Reducto!” Ori casted, and the door blew off of its hinges as they ran straight through it. “Reducto!” Ori said again, and a large chunk of rock on the ceiling fell down, stopping the Wargs in their path following them, and silencing their barks and howls at last.  
  
Bilbo sank down to the floor as soon as he could no longer hear the Wargs behind him. All three of them were breathing heavily, after they’d ran for their lives through a stone maze. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do whatever was next. He couldn’t see anything in front of him except for statues and a tiled floor, and there was nothing attacking him at the moment. He cherished it for the twenty seconds it lasted.  
  
“We’ve got to keep going.” Bofur said, and offered him a hand to help him stand. “The sooner we get out of this death trap, the better.”  
  
“I wonder how long they’ve been down here…” Bilbo pondered to himself about the Wargs. “Has anyone been feeding them?”  
  
“Honestly, it would’ve been better if no one was.” Bofur said, as Bilbo steadied himself standing. This room was much larger, and about the same level of brightness as the room of keys was in. The walls were all white and marble, with a checkered black-and-white pattern floor in front of them. A series of statues stood in front of them, each of different creatures in black and white. And behind them all was a large grey door, with a carving of a badger in it.  
  
“Brilliant, we don’t even need to do anything.” Bofur said, and began to walk towards the door. But just as he began to approach the Goblin statues, they suddenly moved, and held out their swords to stop him from going further. Ori tried to follow him, but he could not get past them either.  
  
“What are we supposed to do?” Ori asked, coming back to stand with Bilbo next to a black statue of a Man on horseback. “Do we break them?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. He could recognize the statues, at least two of them on each side, white and black. There were Men on horseback beside an Elf-maiden standing still as stone, and a Dwarf-king beside her, with a crown of gold and mighty shield. He recognized these statues…but…it was strange. “It can’t be Creatures Chess, can it?”  
“What d’you mean?” Bofur asked.  
  
“Are we supposed to play a game of Creature’s Chess?” Bilbo asked. He noticed that there were two spots missing on the black side, as well as a riderless horse. He turned to a Hobbit piece. “Should we, erm, play on your side?”  
  
The Hobbit nodded its head. “So.” Bilbo said. “Who’s the best at Creature’s Chess?”  
  
“That would be me, if you don’t mind.” Bofur said, making his way over from the white Goblins to where Bilbo and Ori stood. “They’re missing some pieces, namely, an Orc and a Goblin. Bilbo, you can be the Orc, since you know how to play, and Ori can be the Goblin.”  
  
“Normally I’d say that’s rude, but seeing as you mean it…” Ori stared at the empty space where he needed to stand. “Alright. How hard can it be?”  
  
“I’ll take that horse.” Bofur said, and made his way over to where it was, climbing up onto its back. “We’ll have to knock out their Dwarf-king…shouldn’t be too hard. White moves first.” As he said this, one of the white Goblins shifted itself two places forward.  
  
“Um, Bofur…” Bilbo had realized a key flaw in their plan. “Isn’t Creatures Chess a little violent?”  
  
But either Bofur had not heard him, or he wasn’t listening. “You! Yes, you.” he said, pointing at a Goblin piece. “Move two spaces forward.”  
  
The Goblin followed the order, sliding forward two spaces on the other side of the board from the white Goblin. Another white Goblin moved, and Bofur moved another to face diagonally from it. The white Goblin picked up its sword, and swung at the black Goblin. To Bilbo’s horror, the black Goblin was cut in half, falling over onto the board and shattering.  
  
“Oh.” Bofur said. “K-knight to the left.”  
  
And so the game went on, with Bofur in charge of commanding the pieces. Every move he made was calculated to result in the least amount of damage for each side, although every so often a piece was struck down in such a brutal manner than Bilbo was afraid to leave his spot. Once the Elf-maidens came into play, things became interesting. While the black Elf-maiden’s methods were to get as close to the Dwarf-king as possible, the white Elf-maiden’s methods were to destroy everything within her path, no matter if it aided her or not. On one particular move, Bilbo was close enough to nearly be knocked over by the structure of the Goblin she had taken.  
  
“Don’t move! If we move unexpectedly, the game ends.” Bofur told him as he looked to jump out of the way.  
  
It continued, the Elf-maidens wrecking whatever they could find, and Bilbo and Ori moving around as if they truly were pieces in a game of Creature’s Chess. It was good to know that all that time he had spent not doing his classwork and beating Fili and Kili at Creature’s Chess didn’t add up to nothing. Now, all he had to ensure was that he did not meet his end at the hands of an Elf statue.  
  
Soon, there were only five pieces left on their side, and three on the white side. Bofur hadn’t given a command to any of them for a few minutes, and he appeared deep in thought atop his horse. Bilbo was standing only a few spaces away from the Dwarf-king, and he could see victory, if only the Elf-maiden would let up.  
  
“Yes…so, if I…and then Ori…” Bilbo could hear Bofur muttering to himself. After another minute, he stopped. “Alright, then. Kn-”  
  
“Stop!” Ori shouted suddenly. He was staring at the space in front of Bofur, the same line that the Elf-maiden was on, her weapon poised and ready to strike. “You’re not going to sacrifice yourself, right?”  
  
“That’s the idea.” Bofur said, and Bilbo realized what he was doing. “If I move into this space, that air-headed, sadistic, stone Elf lady will be able to take my piece off the board. But once she moves, the Dwarf-king is open for you to check him, Bilbo.”  
  
“Haven’t you got any other plan?” Bilbo asked. He’d seen what had happened to the pieces that the Elf-maiden had struck down. It terrified him to think of that happening to his friend.  
  
But Bofur shook his head. “Once you’ve won the game, take the Dwarf’s sword. It’s the key through that door. I’ll manage.”  
  
“But…we’ve come all this way!” Bilbo protested.  
  
“D’you think I’m planning on dying?” Bofur asked, steadying himself on the horse’s back. “Even if I get hurt, you two’ll be able to go and get the stone. It’s me or Thranduil destroying the school, and I think one of those options outweigh the others. Alright?”  
  
Bilbo had to force his head to nod. No matter how much he didn’t want to see his friend hurt, Bofur was right. And he had a terrible feeling that if they didn’t finish soon, they would never have a chance to get the stone. “Alright.”  
  
Bofur took a deep breath. “Knight, up one space.”  
  
Bilbo watched as the horse carrying Bofur on its back slid forward just one space, although it felt like he was sliding underneath the lake. He saw the white Elf-maiden raise her head, and began to shift towards his position. Within a few short seconds, he saw her raise her weapon, and strike hard on the body of the horse. It let out a cry, and she wound back her hand, knocking Bofur over the head with the hilt. Bilbo looked away as he heard the sound of him falling to the ground. Once he’d reopened his eyes, he saw Ori standing in the corner of the board, looking as if he was about to cry.  
  
With shaky steps, Bilbo began to walk towards the Dwarf-king. He towered tall above Bilbo, and in his shadow, Bilbo could see a glint of gold on his sword. “Checkmate.” he said, in a feeble attempt to sound brave.  
  
The Dwarf let go of the sword, and as it clattered to the floor, the huge grey door began to creak open. The game was over. They had won.  
  
Instantly, Bilbo ran over to where Bofur had landed on the ground. Ori followed suit, as the remaining pieces dusted themselves off and started to rearrange themselves on the board. “He…he’s not dead…is he?” Ori asked.  
  
“I think he’s just unconscious.” Bilbo said, observing as he could still see Bofur’s chest rising and falling. A nasty gash was forming on the place where the Elf-maiden had hit him. Bilbo saw it, and ripped off a part of the bottom of his school robes, tying it around the wound. “We better go.”  
  
Ori nodded in agreement. The both of them took a last look at Bofur, and left towards the door. It had opened up to reveal a staircase, which Bilbo and Ori began to climb. “We’ve had Spiderwebs and Wargs, enchanted keys and chess…what do you think they could put next?” Bilbo asked as the grey door began to shut itself behind them.  
  
“Hopefully nothing terrible.” Ori said. “What time do you think it is by now?”  
  
“We must have been down here for at least an hour.” Bilbo said. “Hopefully we won’t be for much longer.”  
  
“What if we don’t get the stone?”  
  
Bilbo stopped. “We will. We’ve come this far, haven’t we?” He hoped that would end up being as true as he told Ori it was.  
  
As the staircase began to end, Bilbo saw a small room up ahead. It was circular, much like Elrond’s office, and had a beautifully detailed painting hanging on the wall. It was of an Elf woman, with shining white hair and a silver crown made of a hundred crystals. She looked ethereal, almost as if she was made of purely magic, and nothing else.  
  
“You have come far.” she spoke to Bilbo and Ori. “You are truly greater than anyone else in this castle.”  
  
Bilbo and Ori both exchanged glances. “Are you the last defence?” Ori asked her.  
  
She nodded. “And none may pass, unless they are truly ambitious, brave, loyal, and intelligent. Behind me lies the Arkenstone of Thrór, a possession of unimaginable power, cursed from the moment it was first unearthed. I see that there are many who wish to hold it.”  
  
“Was there someone before us?” Bilbo asked, his heart sinking.    
  
The portrait of the woman nodded. “He has come asking for his master, who will grant him with great might. I fear the worst for him.”  
  
“Well, we’re here to stop him.” Bilbo told her. “What do we have to do to get to it?”  
  
“You must answer my riddle.” she said. “Only then will I grant the solver access to the Arkenstone.”  
  
Bilbo felt amazing. He had practically been solving riddles of Sphinx-Charmed Portraits all year, and Ori was brilliant at them as well. This would surely be easy. “What is it?”  
  
The woman smiled, and began to speak.  
  
“The westernmost hill is my hearth and home, and there has never been a day in which I am alone. Smaller than the sky yet taller than the earth, a glass was raised on the day of my birth. Friend to all but friend to none, and braver than my blood could have ever done. A bird sits atop my forehead and shall never leave its nest, who is this creature of whom you know best?”  
  
Bilbo and Ori stood in silence. No one spoke. He was still taking the riddle in. He had no clue as to what any of it could mean. He turned to Ori to see his he had an answer, but Ori appeared just as confused as Bilbo was.  
  
“I can only tell this once.” the woman said. “It is best if you can remember it all.”  
  
‘The westernmost hill is my hearth and home.’ The creature must take up a home in the west areas of Middle-Earth. But, and as Bilbo knew from History of Magic, that could be anywhere. They could be an Ent, a Spider, a Wizard…anything that lived west of the Misty Mountains. ‘And there has never been a day in which I am alone.’ What could that mean? Was it two creatures? Did they have a twin, or a ghost that followed them?  
  
The next line had been ‘Smaller than the sky, yet taller than the earth, a glass was raised on the day of my birth.’ The first part could mean anything, but the second part was beginning to narrow things down. For a celebration to be held at someone’s birth, they surely had to be special. Perhaps a king, or a great adventurer?  
  
“Do you remember Angmar saying anything about a Western nobleman?” he asked Ori. Ori shook his head.  
  
“I’m thinking of some type of bird.” he said. “But what type of bird would be celebrated at birth?”  
  
Bilbo moved on to the next line. ‘Friend to all but friend to none, and braver than my blood could have ever done.’ Ah, so perhaps it was an adventurer. A lonely adventurer, who wandered around the west, well-known but cold.  
  
He was about to give the answer to the portrait, before he remembered the last line. ‘A bird sits atop my forehead and shall never leave its nest, who is this creature of whom you know best?’ He didn’t know any adventurer, much less one with a bird for a pet. Everything he’d thought of was suddenly thrown out the window. Who could he possibly know who had all those qualities? It seemed impossible. Perhaps the portrait was mistaken.  
  
“I…I don’t have an answer.” he said at last. Ori appeared to not have come up with anything, as well.  
  
“Are you certain?” the portrait asked the two of them. “You may stay here for as long as you’d like.”  
  
He would surely have stayed there thinking for all eternity if he took the chance, Bilbo thought. He went over the riddle once more, twice more, thrice more…every time coming up with less and less. He and Ori didn’t dare say a word to each other in case it would ruin their chances. They couldn’t give up now, not after coming this far. He would stay there for as long as he needed to before letting Thranduil get away with the Arkenstone, before he let Smaug rise again.  
  
He was deep in thought when suddenly he felt a sharp twinge on his forehead. Letting out a small gasp of pain, he reached up to check his bird feather scar. As he brushed his hair out of the way, he suddenly realized something: his scar was shaped like a bird’s feather. The scar on his forehead.  
  
Everything changed. He ran over the riddle line by line again. ‘The westernmost hill is my hearth and home.’ Hobbiton was, indeed located in the west, and his aunt’s house was located underneath a hill near the edge of town. ‘And there has never been a day in which I am alone.’ True, he didn’t always have his friends. But now that he did, it felt as if he’d never been the same lonely Hobbit who slept in the pantry and did chores for his aunt.  
  
‘Smaller than the sky, yet taller than the earth.’ Hobbits were quite short. He himself was a little taller than average. ‘A glass was raised on the day of my birth.’ Could that be referencing his infamy? Beorn had told him that he was special since the day he was born. Could that really be true?  
  
‘Friend to all but friend to none.’ Hobbits were social creatures, but at the same time, the only people that they ever spoke to were other Hobbits. ‘And braver than my blood could have ever done.’ His aunt would be terrified if she were to find herself down underneath the school, having outran Wargs and done battle in deadly duels. He did not know of his mother and father…this was strange. Surely, the riddle couldn’t be about him, could it?  
  
And lastly, ‘A bird sits atop my forehead and shall never leave its nest.’ The scar he was given on the day his parents died looked like a bird’s feather. It gave him pain when bad things were near, it was marvelled at by people who barely knew him, and it didn’t seem like it was going away anytime soon. So, who was this creature that he knew best? Bilbo almost didn’t believe it. The answer all this time had been…  
  
“A Hobbit. Or, more specifically, me.” Bilbo told the portrait. “Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
For a second, he was terrified that he would be wrong. But the woman smiled. “You are quite correct. Journey forward, young Baggins.” The wall behind her portrait began to reveal itself to be a door, leading to a small hallway and a staircase leading downwards. There was no way to tell where it would lead to. The only way to tell would be to follow it.  
“Let’s go.” he said to Ori, and began to walk towards the opening. But Ori did not follow him.  
  
“I can’t go with you.” he said. “I didn’t solve the riddle.”  
  
“What?” Bilbo said. “Of course you can come! I can’t do it alone!”  
  
“Bilbo, you can. That’s the point.” Ori said. “You have to go alone, and you can.”  
  
Bilbo could not believe it. Ori had been the one who was most upset when Bilbo tried to say that he wanted to do this alone, and now he was saying that he not only could, but was supposed to?  
  
“Bilbo. I know that you might not think it, or you might not believe when I say it, but you’re one of the greatest wizards I know. If not the greatest in Hogwarts. And it isn’t because of this at all.” He motioned to Bilbo’s bird feather scar. “It’s because of who you are. Me and Bofur, sure, we might be good at magic, we might be brave enough to follow you into this, but you’re the one who’s meant to do this. Not because of what any prophecy says. Because you want to. You know what’s right, and you’d be hanged before you let Thranduil get away with that stone. I’m not meant to finish this. It’s down to you.”  
  
Bilbo couldn’t think of what to say. He’d never heard anyone say anything like that to him before. He’d always been told he was special, but it was usually because they had heard of Bilbo Baggins, greatest of them all. Not because they were his friend. Not because they thought he was truly brave. It amazed him. Before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around Ori.  
  
“Be careful.” Ori told him. “I’ll go back for Bofur, and I’ll tell Elrond - no, wait, I’ll write to Gandalf. The broom from the keys should be enough to get us out of here. You…you do what you can, alright?”  
  
“Alright.” Bilbo said, and he let go of Ori. The passageway was still opened up behind him, and he was ready to follow it to wherever it lead, whatever it lead to. Whatever was coming next, he would have to face alone, but at the same time, he wasn’t really alone. “I’ll see you once we’re all safe.”  
  
“See you.” Ori said, and without another word, he ran back down the stairway. Bilbo stared at the passageway, goldenly lit and small enough to fit him inside. He was ready. He was ready.  
  
As he climbed inside, he made sure he had a good grip on his wand in case Thranduil tried to jump out at him. Once the passageway ended, he found himself on another staircase, this one leading down into the last room. He went down the steps in pure silence, making sure he didn’t trip over his cloak, and staring straight ahead at the room ahead.  
  
The staircase ended, and he stepped down onto the last step. In front of him was another circular room, this time with pillars holding up the ceiling. In the centre of it was Galadriel’s Mirror, the basin with blue smoke swirling above it. And standing behind that was someone, staring into the water with dead, cold eyes.  
  
But it wasn’t Thranduil.


	25. The Arkenstone

It was Professor Oakenshield.  
  
There, standing right behind Galadriel’s Mirror, staring at the water as if it were his greatest enemy, was Bilbo’s Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Bilbo himself could not speak. Never, not once had he suspected Oakenshield to have gone through the trapdoor before them. A million questions began to run through his brain. Had he taken the Arkenstone? Where was Thranduil? What did the portrait mean about fearing the worst for him? Did the portrait even mean him? Was there someone else? And if there was, what had happened to them? Bilbo stayed rooted to the spot, staring at Oakenshield, who, he assumed, had not noticed him yet.  
  
“You…you’re not Thranduil.” he finally said, and Oakenshield looked up. He did not smile. It sent a shiver through Bilbo’s entire body.  
  
“You are very observant, Mr Baggins. Indeed, I am not Professor Thranduil.”  
  
“Then where is he? He was supposed to…I was supposed to be right! He’s going to steal the Arkenstone!”  
  
“I can assure you, that Thranduil is very far away from us right now, Bilbo.” Oakenshield said, taking a few steps away from the basin. “I have made sure of that. He should still be drinking wine from the bottle I gifted to him this evening. But you were very right to suspect him. He and his kind still seem the type to be feared, even after all this time.”  
  
“What are you saying?” Bilbo asked. Then, a terrible realization struck him. “No. It can’t be you, you can’t…”  
  
“If it were up to me, I would’ve blamed him as well.” Oakenshield said, his expression growing more and more malicious as he continued to speak. “After the incident with the Troll on Hallow’s Eve, I had to keep closer watch on him. He came running right after me, and that Dragon didn’t even both to take his head off properly. My Troll failed to kill you, to make the matter worse, and I soon discovered that’d you'd made powerful allies - well, not exactly powerful if they aren’t here with you.”  
  
“Your Troll? You let it in the castle?” Everything Bilbo was so sure he’d known, everything he’d spent this entire year piecing together and solving, was being destroyed like a piece of parchment above a flame. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had been so afraid he would be wrong…  
  
“As that attempt failed to get rid of you, my next attempt was at the Quidditch match. Why, Baggins, do you think that Thranduil refereed your second match of the year? He wanted to keep his eyes on you after what happened to you last time. Of course, no one suspected it. He’d already made enemies here. There was no need for me to step in there.  
  
“You and your friends were clever, Baggins. They wasted no time on figuring out what, exactly, was beneath the trapdoor that idiot Legolas had lead you straight to. You love to stick yourself in places you don’t belong, is that true? And that ridiculous Beorn was all the help to you. I wasn’t surprised when he told me how to get past his Dragon earlier this year. All I needed to do was promise him a Dragon egg and tire him out, and then he was out of the way.  
  
“Unfortunately, you caught me at my worst. That night in the forest you’d been on detention…I shouldn’t have been out then. But I had been forced. The power I am containing needs to be kept in one piece, and for that, it needs Unicorn blood. It had been gathering strength over the last few months, and I needed it more and more, until you found me there. That Eagle nearly killed me, but we got away in perfect time.  
  
“For someone your age, I can see exactly why you’d put the blame on everything that’d happened this year on your hated Potions master. But for someone like you, I admit I expected much better. He tried his best to save you, Baggins. But he missed the most important event. Where is he now?”  
  
Bilbo tried to run, to cast a hex at Oakenshield, but he was frozen to the spot, this time not by his own will. He tried desperately to move his legs as Oakenshield stared into the basin again, desperation filling his eyes as well.  
  
“I was told it was here, underneath the castle…” he muttered. “I’ve destroyed the traps and mazes, I’ve done all that I can, but…where is it? Show it to me!” he demanded of the basin.  
  
“You can’t do this!” Bilbo said. “I’m not going to let you take the stone! My friends are telling Gandalf that you’re here right…right now!”  
  
“But where is your beloved Professor Gandalf, Baggins?” Oakenshield snarled. “In your hour of need, it looks like both your guardians have abandoned you. Now, stop your struggling. I need to speak with him.”  
  
“With who…” Bilbo began to ask, but as he did, a burning pain struck his forehead. He cried out as he heard Oakenshield begin to whisper.  
  
“It is here…I can feel it…I have promised it to you, but if I cannot find it…”  
  
“The mirror.” came a snakelike whisper that echoed around the room. “Use the mirror.”  
  
Oakenshield grabbed onto the base of the basin that was Galadriel’s Mirror, and took out a pocket mirror from his coat. He let his fingers swirl around in the water, something Bilbo had never even dared to think of doing, and stared with narrowed eyes into his mirror.  
  
“I can see it, yes, I’m giving it to you…but where is it? What good is this mirror if it can’t give me what it shows?”  
  
“Ask him.” the whisper said once more. “Ask the Hobbit.”  
  
Without a second’s notice, Bilbo felt Oakenshield’s hand on his shoulder, dragging him out of the frozen state he’d been in. He shoved him towards the basin, and with a snap of his fingers, Bilbo was frozen once more. “What does it show you? For months I could not understand it, I visited it nearly every night until Thranduil caught me…tell me what you see, Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo couldn’t look. He was too afraid that he would see something he had not accounted for, something that would shock him. Whatever he saw, he could not tell Oakenshield what it was, no matter if it was him with a box of chocolates or his parents standing right next to him. Very slowly and surely, he peered in the water, smoke billowing up into his face. Suddenly, Oakenshield gave him the pocket mirror in quite a rough manner. Bilbo looked at his reflection in the mirror, which didn’t look like it had changed much at first. Perhaps it hadn’t worked.  
  
But, then, the Bilbo he was looking at in the mirror began to smile. It reached into its pocket, and took out a large, luminescent stone, shining a million colours at once, brighter than Bilbo had ever seen the sun shine. The Bilbo in the mirror chuckled, and placed the Arkenstone back in his pocket. Then, the reflection faded, and Bilbo was grabbed by Oakenshield.  
  
“What did it show you?”  
  
Bilbo reached back into his mind for a good lie. “It was me, with my friends. We were…we were winning the house cup. Gandalf was there.”  
  
Oakenshield paused, letting go of Bilbo, who took the opportunity to begin to pace away from him. But not ten seconds had passed when Oakenshield spoke again, this time in a deep and strong voice that made Bilbo wish he’d just told the truth. “Lies.” Bilbo could have sworn he saw his eyes flicker gold. “What is in your pocket?”  
  
“Nothing!” Bilbo said, and he was telling the truth. There was nothing in the pockets of his robes - he checked just to be sure - but, as he reached into his left pocket, he felt something. It almost felt like a gem, smooth and shiny to the touch…  
  
“What. Is in. Your pocket?” Oakenshield asked again, this time through gritted teeth.  
  
It couldn’t be. It was impossible. He had seen it in the reflection, but in reality…he checked again just to be sure. “I…I don’t have anything in my pocket.” he said once more.  
  
“Tell me the truth!” Oakenshield shouted.  
  
But Bilbo couldn’t. Right there, pressing up against his knee, was the Arkenstone, the very thing Oakenshield wanted most at this second, right there with Bilbo. He shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”  
  
“Enough.” The whisper had returned. “Let me speak to him.”  
  
Oakenshield’s anger faded quickly. “No, you cannot be strong enough for this…”  
  
“It is not your choice.” the whisper said. Suddenly, Oakenshield began to cry out, pulling on his hair and struggling to stand. Bilbo felt rumbling underneath his feet. The basin was shaking. Something was happening.  
  
“What’s going on?” Bilbo shouted. But no one answered. Instead, his scar began to burn with a pain never before felt by him. He clutched it as he, too, began to feel his legs fail him. But, just as soon as it had started, the rumbling stopped, and Oakenshield fell silent. Bilbo let go of his forehead to look back, but seemingly, nothing had happened. That was, until he looked at Oakenshield’s eyes.  
  
“Bilbo Baggins.” A voice that was not his own came out of Oakenshield’s mouth. “We meet again. I am sure you do not remember me. How could you, after all, you were so young when we were first acquainted.”  
  
Bilbo felt all the blood drain from his face. Smaug had returned, and was standing just metres away from him.  
  
“Do you see what I have resorted to?” Smaug asked him. “I can only possess living creatures with a body of their own. I am weak, and not even a fraction of what I once was remains. I had to force this Dwarf into giving me a body to inhabit. The promise of power, of justice, it was always enough to fool someone. Once I have regained my true form, I will be through with him. He will receive nothing but a funeral service.” Smaug laughed, a cold, disturbing sound that shook Bilbo.  
  
“The Unicorn blood he fed me wasn’t enough. I needed true power, something that transcends this world you know, so that I may return. It has taken long enough, but now I have it within my reach. You are a polite enough young Hobbit, Bilbo. Hand over the Arkenstone you hold in your pocket.”  
  
Bilbo did not know how he could tell he had it. He began to walk backwards, nothing holding him back from doing so. “No.” he said, taking all the courage he had.  
  
“Don’t be a fool.” Smaug snarled, taking a step forward. “You have seen how those who disobey me suffer. Give me the stone, and I may let you walk free.”  
  
“You’re a liar.” Bilbo said. He no longer wanted to run. He wanted to face Smaug, to fight him. He did not want to let him get away, or let Smaug trick him into letting the stone go.  
  
“You take after your parents.” Smaug told him. “They, too, believed that they could outsmart me. Look at what happened to them. Your own mother tried to fight me, attempting to protect you. If you let yourself die, her death will mean nothing.”  
  
“You know nothing about my parents!” Bilbo shouted. “You will never have the Arkenstone!”  
  
“Very well.” Smaug said, and snapped his fingers. Flames sprung up all around the room, blocking the staircase that Bilbo had come down. Bilbo raised his wand, ready to cast a stinging hex, but Smaug had different plans. He ran towards Bilbo, and before he knew it, his scar felt as if it would explode. Smaug had his hand on Bilbo’s arm, burning into his flesh, and Bilbo was screaming - until Smaug let go, all of a sudden.  
  
Bilbo’s wand fell out of his hand, rolling across the floor to Galadriel’s Mirror as Smaug regained his composure. But Bilbo had the first move. He wound back his hand, and hit Smaug across the face as hard as he could. Smaug let out a scream.  
  
“He burns!” Oakenshield’s voice shouted. “He scalded me!”  
  
“Quiet, fool!” Smaug shouted at the body he had taken control of. He reached out for Bilbo again, but Bilbo ducked out of the way. He grabbed Smaug’s arm and twisted, feeling the skin he touched become red hot.  
  
“Stop!” Smaug shrieked. “Hold still!”  
  
But Bilbo refused, instead grabbing onto Smaug’s neck. He knew Smaug couldn’t dare touch his bare skin without suffering great pain, and he was using it to his advantage. He just needed to get to his wand in time.  
  
Smaug screamed again, and Bilbo let go, making a dash for his wand. As he did, Smaug shot a spell at him. He managed to avoid it, but he fell into the side of the basin. It toppled over, all the water spilling out onto the ground, the blue smoke fading.  
  
“Stupefy!” he shouted, and Smaug fell backwards. Bilbo rushed forward to him again, but as he did, Smaug grabbed onto his leg. Bilbo fell, hitting his head on the hard landing, the Arkenstone falling out of his pocket and onto the ground. Bilbo reached out and grabbed Smaug’s arm once more, but it did little damage.  
  
Then, suddenly, Smaug began to shout, and Bilbo looked up to see smoke billowing out of his mouth. But he felt dizzy. He was falling unconscious, he could no longer see what was in front of him…he reached out for the Arkenstone, but as he did, a hand grabbed onto his, not burning but holding on tightly than he had ever felt before….

  


It was a warm spring morning. Bilbo was sleeping soundly in his bed in the pantry. Aunt Lobelia was rapping on the door. He would have to wake up any minute now, he surely had many chores to do before her guests arrived today…  
  
But as he opened his eyes, he did not see the inside of his pantry, nor did he feel the hardness of the wooden floor he slept on. Instead, he was in a bed, inside a large white room, the ceiling stretching up for him to see the morning blue sky out of the window that was there. There were many beds in the room, but he was the only one occupying one. A green curtain had been pulled in front of one bed, hiding whatever was on it from Bilbo’s view. Tables with various bottles and boxes were next to each bed, some of them empty, some of them still full. He smelled the scent of hand soap and berry-flavoured medicine near him. “This must be the hospital wing.” he thought to himself. “But why am I in the hospital wing?”  
  
Just as he thought that, the knocking on the door that he had been hearing stopped, and the door to the room opened. There stood Professor Gandalf, looking no different since Bilbo saw him last, including his cheerful smile. “I see you have woken.” he said.  
  
“What happened to me?” Bilbo asked, sitting up in his bed. His memory was a little fuzzy. He did not know how long he had been sleeping for.  
  
“You do not remember?” Gandalf asked, standing just above Bilbo. “Strange, it was quite the event, as your friends informed me.”  
  
Suddenly, the memory came flooding back. He gasped. “The stone! Professor, I was wrong, it wasn’t Thranduil, it was Oakenshield! He has the Arkenstone, he’s in the basement right now, below that-”  
  
But Gandalf shook his head. “Calm yourself, Bilbo. No one has the Arkenstone.”  
  
This confused Bilbo. Surely, it had to be somewhere. Had it gotten lost? “What do you mean, Professor?”  
  
“Would you mind if I sat down? I have been standing for a great deal of time this morning, and my legs are beginning to feel a little weary.” He pulled up a chair, and sat down in it, taking a box of candy from Bilbo’s bedside table that he had apparently not noticed. “The events that unfolded three days ago were, indeed, quite curious. I doubt I shall be able to explain it all in one go.”  
  
“Three days?” He had been asleep for that long?  
  
Gandalf nodded. “I had just left for a council meeting on that very same day. I had trusted Elrond to take care of anything that acted up in my absence. As it turns out, there were quite a few things that acted up. He wrote me to inform me that you, as well as Mr Tarvemson and Glorison, had expressed concern over the safety of the Arkenstone. Remembering our conversation from a few months ago, I decided that whatever the White Council needed of me, it would have to wait.  
  
“Upon my return to Hogwarts, however, I found that you three were not present in your dormitories that night. Naturally, I sensed that something was wrong, and I arrived through the trapdoor in time to save both you and Professor Oakenshield from the enemy. But, I confess, you did brilliantly on your own.”  
  
A healer Elf walked out of another door in the room, presumably their office. “Oh, good morning, Gandalf. Will you be needing anything from here?”  
  
“On the contrary, Lindir. Our Bilbo here has been asleep for quite a long time, and I assume that he is feeling quite parched. If you could be so kind as to get him some water, that would be wonderful.” Gandalf said.  
  
“Bilbo?” Lindir asked, making his way over to him quite quickly. “Oh, thank the Valar, you’ve awakened. Wait right here, I’ve set aside some medicine for you. And don’t move your right arm!” He quickly strode back into his office, fumbling about for whatever he needed to give to Bilbo.  
  
“Would you like a chocolate?” Gandalf asked, motioning to Bilbo’s bedside table. “It seems you have quite the collection to choose from.”  
  
Indeed, there were many gifts on the table, some he recognized and some he did not. He reached out for a chocolate frog, but was stopped by a surging pain in his right arm. It appeared to be bandaged. Gandalf handed the sweet to him instead.  
  
“After your adventures in the dungeons, I swore that I would do my best to keep it hidden from the rest of the school. But, students are naturally curious, so, it is possible you may have begun a new Hogwarts legend.” Gandalf said. “I believe there were two students who tried to send you fireworks as a gift. Naturally, Elrond confiscated them, but I have to give them credit where it is due. Seems that they would have been entirely invisible except to a few once set off.”  
  
Lindir returned holding a bottle of sickly yellow liquid. “You had a rather nasty fall.” he informed Bilbo, pouring it into a goblet. “Hit your head rather hard. Your skull appears in all right condition, but you’ll take this just in case.” He handed the liquid to Bilbo, who drank it down in one gulp. He regretted doing so immediately. He began to cough and spit it up as Lindir sighed. “It isn’t supposed to be pleasant, you know.”  
  
After a few minutes of Lindir asking Bilbo if he felt hurt at all, and Bilbo reassuring him that he was fine, just a little drowsy, Gandalf interrupted him. “Would it be too much to ask, Lindir, if I could have a little privacy with Bilbo here? There are a few things I need to inform him of.”  
  
Lindir paused. “Alright, but I’ll only allow fifteen minutes more. I want to tend to his head injuries soon.” He left once more, returning to his office and shutting the door. Bilbo and Gandalf sat in silence for only a few seconds.  
  
“Professor…”  
  
“Yes, Bilbo? Ask away.”  
  
“What happened to the Arkenstone?”  
  
Gandalf paused. “It has been destroyed.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It was for the best.” Gandalf nodded. “I am sure that you are aware of its origins as a cursed object, and with the situation of Erebor. It was quite the valuable object, and far too many creatures sought after it for long enough. Myself and the White Council deliberated for a while on what to do, and in the end, getting rid of it completely seemed to be the best option.”  
  
“But what’s going to happen to Erebor now?”  
  
“I cannot say. Perhaps it will return to a fraction of its former glory. Perhaps not.” Gandalf shrugged his shoulders. “The only thing guaranteed now is that no one else will be driven mad by something as powerful as this any longer.”  
  
Bilbo remembered something now from his fight with Smaug beneath the trapdoor. “Professor, your mirror…the one I found, I mean…it was downstairs. In the dungeons. I think I broke it.”  
  
Gandalf nodded slowly. “I am aware. It seems that some people will always sought after what they want but cannot have. I feel quite foolish in matters related to Galadriel’s Mirror, for I did not notice how often Professor Oakenshield must have been visiting it. I am only glad that he did not run into you there before, and have the chance to kill you without anyone knowing.”  
  
“He was talking about it…” Bilbo said. “He wanted me to look into it. Smaug wanted him to use it.”  
  
“And what did you see when you looked into the mirror, Bilbo?”  
  
“I saw myself with the stone. And when I reached into my pocket, it was there. Professor, how did I manage to get the Arkenstone in my pocket?”  
  
Gandalf smiled. “A wonderful question. Professor Oakenshield, too, saw himself with the Arkenstone upon looking into Galadriel’s Mirror. But there was a difference between what you two both saw. Thorin saw himself presenting the stone to Smaug, gaining all the power promised by him. But you, you simply wanted to have the stone, not to gain power or advantage from it, but to just have it. Do you understand?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“Only someone who wished to find the Arkenstone, but not use it, was worthy to have the Mirror grant them their deepest desire. It was not a desire made out of desperation or selfishness, no, yours was a desire made of selflessness. As you expressed when you first mentioned to me that you believed Thranduil was making plans to steal the stone, you wanted to make sure that it did not harm anyone, and to warn me about what might happen if it fell into the wrong hands, a fact I should have been aware of. I find it amusing that that was the last thing the mirror would ever show, someone getting what they desired the most at last.” Gandalf said.  
  
Bilbo nodded, though he was not entirely sure as to how Gandalf knew all this. He stared up at the ceiling. Stars seemed to dance above him, or it was simply his imagination showing him an illusion. Gandalf put an Every-Flavour Bean into his mouth, and Bilbo saw him pucker. “Strange, I was not aware lemon could taste so sour.”  
  
“Professor, can I ask you something else?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You said that you arrived in time to save me and Oakenshield. What do you mean?”  
  
Gandalf did not nod. He appeared to be in thought. “You must understand, that what Professor Oakenshield did and said to you in the dungeons a few nights ago, was not truly him speaking. It appeared that Smaug’s ghost and spirit had been possessing him for quite a long time now. You may have noticed the multiple times he was absent from your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes this year, or taught you things that would normally not be taught until your fourth or fifth year at Hogwarts. I assume that Smaug’s presence had been taking a toll on him, and reducing his well-being across the school year.”  
  
Gandalf sighed. “It is unclear to me, still, how Smaug managed to convince Thorin into being a vessel for him. He was one of the many displaced after Erebor’s fall quite recently, and was a very powerful Wizard, hence his position as a teacher here at Hogwarts. Most likely, it was the promise of power, perhaps a return to Erebor in all its greatness, that tricked him. It was the perfect opportunity for Smaug to enter the castle, and take the Arkenstone for himself. Sad as it is, I do wish I had realized it sooner. Perhaps this whole event could have been avoided if I had.”  
  
“What happened to him after you found him?” Bilbo asked.  
  
“You had injured him greatly,” Gandalf answered. “but he was still saveable, especially with Smaug having fled the vessel. I would suggest that you do not look behind that green curtain for a while longer, or at least until he wakes. Lindir has been attempting to get ahold of a proper healer for magical maladies at Lord Mungo’s, but until then, he will have to recover here. He has not awoken just yet, but with Lindir tending to his injuries, I have no fear that he will, eventually.”  
  
“He couldn’t touch me.” Bilbo said. “Not without being burned. Why was that?”  
  
“I hope you will not mind me mentioning your mother’s death in my explanation.” Gandalf said, taking a particular interest in a raven that flew around outside the window. “When she died, she did so to save you. This gave you a protection almost as strong as a proper spell that has stayed with you your entire life so far. A damaged soul such as Smaug could not have touched you without being harmed by that sort of protection, simply because he does not understand it.  
  
“When Smaug first rose to power, many years ago, he was a creature of destruction. Anything that stood in his way of power, he got rid of quick as he could. No one had ever come into contact with him and lived to tell the tale. But, of course, then there was you. Or, more specifically, your mother.  
  
“Do you know how strange it would be for a small little Hobbit such as Belladonna, to be able to defeat a Dragon known and feared by name alone? Belladonna was a creature of great heart, Bilbo. She knew that she could not save herself. But, she ended up saving you instead. Her love for you protected you from Smaug, and continues to do so, to this day. Smaug, who has never known love or devotion, and is only familiar with destruction and terror, could not harm someone protected by that type of power. It is terrible that you will never be able to know her, Bilbo. She was one of the most wonderful creatures I had ever met in my time at Hogwarts. You inherit all your Gryffindor traits from her. She and your father loved you very much.”  
  
Bilbo remembered Galadriel’s Mirror, the basin now lying broken on the dungeon floor. Now, he would truly never be able to see them again. But, he knew that he did not have to see them to know that they were there with him. Even in years to come, his mother would always protect him from harm. “The portrait was right.” he whispered to himself. “There really has never been a day in which I am alone.”  
  
“And it appears that her ring has helped you a great deal this year, would you say?” Gandalf said, smiling and reaching into his pocket. “I had a feeling that it would do better in your hands than mine. But now, I must add to your collection of gifts. Though, admittedly, this is not my own.” Out of his pocket, Gandalf pulled out a small wooden box, runes marking the sides of it. “I believe that your friend, Beorn, showed this to you a while ago?”  
  
He handed the box to Bilbo. Indeed, he did remember Beorn telling him about finding this hidden in a tree in the Forbidden Forest. That was on the night they were giving Cinders away to Bifur and his friends. Why would Gandalf want to give it to him specifically?  
  
“I find this to be a very curious keepsake myself.” Gandalf said as Bilbo examined the box. “I was not able to open it using any possible magic, or even the Laa-ingole methods. But, reading the inscription on it, I understood.”  
  
“I can’t read it, Professor.” Bilbo said.  
  
“That is most likely because it is written in Quenya. Even I had to remind myself of how to read it at first. I believe it says, ‘I open at the close’. Whatever that could mean, however, is up to you. Who knows, it may even hold another adventure for you next year.” Gandalf said, chuckling.  
  
“Maybe it will.” Bilbo said. After all this, he was quite ready for another adventure at Hogwarts. But there was something he needed to find first. “Professor Gandalf, do you know where Bofur and Ori are?”  
  
Gandalf smiled. “Indeed I do. Now, Lindir may have my head for this, but if you’d like to follow me, I think they’ve been waiting for you long enough.”  
  
Bilbo got out of the bed, and followed Gandalf out of the hospital wing, although it hurt a little to walk. He was still wearing his tattered robes, and smelled rather disgusting to himself. It didn’t take too long to get where Gandalf was leading him, and once he was out in the courtyard, he saw Bofur and Ori, the both of them sitting on a bench playing Exploding Snap. Gandalf cleared his throat, and as he did, both boys looked over.  
  
In the next few short seconds, Bilbo was being hugged very tightly before he could even register it. “You’re alive!” Ori shouted.  
  
“I think I am, yes.” Bilbo laughed, hugging his friends back.  
  
“We were really worried about you.” Bofur said. “We thought we weren’t going to see you again.”   
  
“You have to tell us everything, every little detail right now!” Ori said, letting go and grabbing Bilbo’s hand.  
  
“Never mind me, are you two alright?” Bilbo asked, mainly to Bofur.  
  
Bofur shrugged. “Sprained wrist. Nothing worthy of Dís finding that chess piece and shouting it down.”  
  
Bilbo laughed. “I suppose I shall leave you three to it.” Gandalf said as Bofur and Ori began to drag Bilbo along with them. “But, Bilbo, one last thing.”  
  
“Yes, Professor?”  
  
Gandalf leaned in close. “When you return home to your aunt’s at the end of the year, you must not tell her a single thing about this. Eleven years ago, I promised her that you would be safest at Hogwarts. If she ever found out that you were put in a deadly dangerous situation, I doubt that she may let you return. You might not think it, but she cares for your well-being as much as I do. And I think we would all find it very draining if you did not return for your second year at Hogwarts.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “I promise, Professor.”  
  
“Good. Now, I shall see you all in June.” Gandalf said. “Do try to stay out of any trouble before then. You three have done well enough for a lifetime.”


	26. Epilogue

What remained of the school year seemed to go by in a blur. Bilbo was allowed to leave the hospital wing after another two days of Lindir fussing over his head injury, the treatment for which consisted of the sickly yellow liquid along with some nuts placed underneath his pillow. Many of his friends and classmates came to visit him while he was still confined to the little bed in the large room, some bringing gifts, and some with stories to tell.  
  
“Lindir wouldn’t let us get away with the fireworks.” Fili told Bilbo one afternoon. “So we brought you some pastries instead.”  
  
“No jinxes baked in, this time.” Kili added. “I don’t think Lindir would be too happy if we turned you into a canary.”  
  
“Oh, and Dís told us to give you this.” Fili said, handing an envelope to Bilbo. “I’m not too sure what it is, but she seemed worried sick about you.”  
  
The envelope turned out to contain a heartfelt letter from their mother, as well as a small little charm for a necklace in the shape of a Dragon. ‘My father knew someone who always made charms out of the beasts he killed,’ she explained in her letter, ‘so may this be the first of many!’  
  
Beorn came to visit, as well, bursting into the hospital wing on a Sunday, frightening Lindir and making him knock over the bottle of red medicine he was placing back inside a cupboard. “It’s my fault.” he confessed to Bilbo. “I should’ve known that man from Dale was suspicious. I shouldn’t have told him how to get past Sol.”  
  
“It isn’t your fault, Beorn.” Bilbo reassured him. “It was Smaug, after all.”  
  
“Gandalf shouldn’t have trusted me.” Beorn said, wincing at the name of the Dragon. “You could’ve been killed.”  
  
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Bilbo said. “He hasn’t got the stone, it’s gone, don’t worry about it, Beorn.”  
  
Beorn shook his head. “I shouldn’t be complaining to you. I’ve got you something, here…”  
  
“It isn’t a baby Hippogriff, is it?” Bilbo asked.  
  
That got a small little chuckle out of Beorn. “No, I don’t think I’ll be getting any baby creatures for a while now.” He reached into his coat, and took out a folded-up piece of parchment, handing it to Bilbo. “I sent ravens off to look for these, there were only so many, but…”  
  
Bilbo unfolded the parchment. To his surprise, more pieces of paper fell out of it and onto his bed. Each one of them was a drawing, a perfect and beautiful sketch of two Hobbits, the man wearing an overcoat and suspenders, and the woman in a red dress. He recognized his mother and father almost instantly. “How did you get these?”  
  
“I knew some old friends of your father.” Beorn said. “Of course, they aren’t all perfect, and a few of them are ripped, but I think you should have something to remember them by.”  
  
Bilbo could barely speak. “Thank you, Beorn.” he managed to say in awe. “It’s perfect.”  
  
And, of course, Bofur and Ori were with him nearly every hour of the day. Bilbo had told them the story of the dungeons over and over again, each time Ori in complete disbelief that it had been Professor Oakenshield the whole time. “So, that time you saw them arguing outside the room to the mirror…” Ori asked one evening, with Lindir in his office and the candles in the room almost out.  
  
“It had been Oakenshield at fault.” Bilbo nodded. “He let the Troll in on Hallow’s Eve, too.”  
  
“Everyone’s been talking about it, you know.” Bofur said. “I heard Godelina say, that Aldreda told her you cut off the Dragon’s head.”  
  
“And Ruiwen’s convinced that you got possessed by a ghost to steal the Arkenstone.” Ori added.  
  
“They’ll find out the truth eventually.” Bilbo said. “But what happened to you two?”  
  
“Bofur wouldn’t wake up for a long time.” Ori said. “It was scary. I had to drag him onto the broom to get us out of there, but once he did wake up, we were already going back to write to Gandalf.”  
  
“He was there in the hallway, though.” Bofur continued. “Gandalf, I mean. Took one look at us and dashed off to the third floor. Weird guy. It was like he just knew exactly what was going to happen.”  
  
“He probably did.” Bilbo said. “I mean, he was the one who sent me the ring for the winter solstice.”  
  
“I still can’t believe the stone’s gone.” Ori said. “Just like that. It was probably ages old.”  
  
“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about it anymore.” Bilbo said. “What will we worry about now?”  
  
“Not exams, they’ve let us off.” Bofur said.  
  
“Really?” Bilbo and Ori asked in unison.  
  
“You didn’t hear? Elrond told me after Transfiguration yesterday, we won’t have to do exams this year. Something about letting us rest after ‘almost dying’.” Bofur told them.  
  
Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure how he was going to memorize the ingredients to a Cure for Boils in just a few weeks. He felt a little better now knowing that he wouldn’t have to.  
  
For the rest of the month of April, Bilbo was let out of the hospital wing to attend classes and do whatever he wanted with his friends. It was no surprise that the rest of their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes were taught by Balin the Nearly-Headless, and were obviously much less interesting than their old classes. Many students kept whispering and staring when he walked into class, but he was learning to not mind it. He did his homework (more or less), spoke to the professors, and went along his day like anyone else would.  
  
The one thing that upset him was the fact that he would not be allowed to play in the final Quidditch match of the year. He’d wanted to, badly, but Nori wouldn’t allow it. “Normally, I’d say ‘forget it’ and make you get on that broom, but I wouldn’t want you getting hit by a Bludger after you just fought a bloody Dragon.” he explained to Bilbo when he showed up for practice one morning. “We’ll find someone else, don’t worry about it. And I’m gonna expect you to turn up for tryouts next year, okay? You can still watch the practice if you want. I couldn’t keep my little brother out, what makes you think I’m gonna keep my Seeker out?”  
  
This Bilbo did end up doing, and he watched as Fili and Kili eventually hit one thousand Bludgers around the pitch, celebrating by charming the Bludgers to grow wings, and Kili kissing Tauriel on the cheek. Bilbo was surprised one morning to see Ruiwen show up on the pitch, wearing borrowed Gryffindor team robes and holding a broomstick of their own.  
  
“Turns out I’ve got a knack for Seeking.” Ruiwen beamed proudly, as they explained their presence to Bilbo. “I’ve been practicing with Professor Adoness all year. She even lent me her broom for the game!”  
  
“That’s great, Ruiwen!” Bilbo congratulated them.  
  
“I just hope it doesn’t start flying around on its own accord.” they said. “Remember that?”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “At least you can’t blow anything up once you’re in the air.”  
  
Ruiwen shrugged their shoulders. “I feel bad taking it away from you, you know. You’re definitely a better Seeker than I’ll ever be.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I don’t think Hufflepuff has that good of a team anyway.” Bilbo said to them. Ruiwen laughed, and Tauriel had to interrupt them to get Ruiwen to practice.  
  
Professor Thranduil was surprisingly, the same as always. It appeared to be that he did not dislike Bilbo because of anything to do with the Arkenstone, but simply because he just did not like Bilbo. Bofur made the mistake of messing up his antidote in a class close to the end of the month, and Thranduil reacted the same way he always had, by muttering something about Professor Elrond favouriting them enough to let them off exams, and giving Bofur some extra homework that night. Legolas was the same as well, scoffing in their general direction, and offering no condolences or congratulations to Bilbo. It was good to see that some thing just wouldn’t change, Bilbo thought to himself.  
  
After a few weeks, Bilbo had almost put all of the business to do with the Arkenstone behind him. He was planning for his summer, how he would send ravens to his friends detailing just how he managed to live somewhere without magic for a whole two months. However, one afternoon in earliest May, Professor Elrond stopped Bilbo in the hall on his way to his Charms class. “Follow me, please.” he said as he lead Bilbo down a few flights of stairs. “There is someone who wishes to see you immediately.”  
  
As soon as Bilbo found himself in the doorway of the hospital wing, he noticed the difference. The green curtain Gandalf had told him not to look behind had been pulled back, and there was someone lying on the bed that it used to cover.  
  
“He woke up this morning.” Elrond explained as Bilbo stared. “Lord Mungo’s will take him tomorrow. But he wanted to see you, if that was alright.”  
  
“It’s alright.” Bilbo said. Admittedly, he was nervous. He had last been face-to-face with Professor Oakenshield whilst Smaug had control of him. He wasn’t sure what he would be like now. But, he must have wanted to see him for a reason. “Erm, good morning, Professor.” Bilbo made his way over to Oakenshield’s side.  
  
Oakenshield looked quite different from the Dwarf that had taught him Defence Against the Dark Arts all this year. His skin was pale, his eyes a clouded colour of blue, with multiple bandages still wrapped around his neck. Bilbo winced as he looked at the damage he’d done. But, at the mention of his name, he turned his head and, surprisingly, smiled. “Yes, right. Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
“Are you feeling alright, Professor?” Bilbo asked politely.  
  
“There is no need to address me as Professor, Bilbo.” Oakenshield said. “I am glad you did not run away from me, however. I…I suppose there is a lot of explaining to do.”  
  
“Gandalf told me.” Bilbo said, turning his eyes to the ground.  
  
“You must forgive me. He was powerful, much too powerful…I was too blind to see through it.” Oakenshield said. “I assume I have done horrible things, not all of which are coming to memory. Some of which I cannot be forgiven for at all. But, I would ask you to try, at the very least. It is out of my hands, but I would prefer to be remembered as your teacher instead of your enemy.”  
  
Bilbo nodded. Indeed, forgiveness was a hard thing to give, especially when Bilbo felt his trust had been betrayed. It was a decision he would eventually have to make. Perhaps not all in this moment. “I understand, Professor.”  
  
“I am sure by now you have already realized that I will not be returning as your Professor next year.” Bilbo nodded. “But I think that the next years will be much safer for you at Hogwarts without me there.”  
  
“Thanks, Professor. Oh, um, I mean…”  
  
“Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo. You can address me as that, if you wish to. You should return to your classes.”  
  
Bilbo nodded, and turned to leave. Lindir noticed him from inside his office, and began to make his way out with a bottle of deep blue liquid Bilbo could only assume was another one of the variously coloured medicines he had.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Bilbo stopped. “Yes, erm, Thorin?”  
  
“What became of the Arkenstone?” Thorin asked.  
  
Bilbo paused. “It was destroyed.”  
  
Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank Mahal. I wish we could say the same for Smaug. But…thank you, Bilbo Baggins. Farewell.”

  


May passed. Exams were written (some of which Ori turned up to write), goodbyes were said from the students leaving early, and food was prepared for the end of year feast. Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor in the final Quidditch match of the year, although Ruiwen put up a good fight as the Seeker. Bilbo watched from the stands, wearing Ruiwen’s lion head beside Ori and Bofur, both of which cheered on the Gryffindor team. They celebrated Ruiwen’s first game at Beorn’s hut afterwards, Galard nearly taking apart the sewed lion head before Bilbo could save it.  
  
So soon, Bilbo would have to return to Hobbiton. He sighed as he remembered the house at the bottom of the hill, where his aunt would be waiting, likely with chores for him to do. That was all it was to him now. A house, where his aunt dwelled without him. Not a home. Hogwarts was his home, and Bilbo belonged there. On the night after exams had ended, Bilbo gave out his address to nearly everyone in the Gryffindor common room, silently laughing at what his aunt would think once all of their ravens showed up with letters for him. As he began to store his clothes and supplies back into his cauldron, he felt like the dormitory room was getting a little smaller, a little barer. It felt strange. He remembered his first night at Hogwarts, how happy he’d been to no longer be alone. The feeling had stuck for the rest of the year. Perhaps it would stay with him throughout the summer.  
  
As they filed down into the Great Hall on their last night of school, Bilbo was surrounded by all of his friends. Ori and Bofur were chatting away with him about what they thought was truly at the bottom of the lake, Ruiwen was wearing their wood tiara with grace, Godelina and Aldreda were giggling and holding hands, Fili and Kili were chatting with Dori, head boy of Gryffindor house, and Taraneth was saying something to her friend that Legolas did not seem pleased at. As they entered the Great Hall to find more food than Bilbo had ever seen in his life laid out on the tables, the atmosphere was warm and truly did feel like a home he desperately never wanted to leave from. They talked and ate and laughed, the ceiling lit by stars of blue and silver, the teachers enjoying themselves as well. Beorn managed to wave at Bilbo when he glanced his way, before returning to what appeared to be a contest with Radagast concerning who could drink more wine quickly.  
  
It was not long before Gandalf silenced the crowd of students and teachers. He stood from his chair. “Good evening.” he began with. “Another year at Hogwarts has passed. I must first start by congratulating every student who has finished their exams, OWLs, or NEWTs. Hard as they may seem, none of you have given up, much to our caretaker Radagast’s happiness, who was pleased to not have to clean up the mess of any student attempting to swim in the lake.”  
  
Laughter came from most of the sixth and seventh years. Radagast even managed to smile sheepishly, his hare perched on his shoulder.  
  
“However, we are also gathered to celebrate the winners of the House Cup.” Gandalf continued. “I am proud to present fourth place to Slytherin house, with a grand total of five hundred and twenty points.”  
  
Bilbo had nearly forgotten all about the house cup. How many points had they won? How many had they lost? Surely, they could not be that far behind…  
  
“In third place, we have Ravenclaw house, with six hundred thirty points. For second, Gryffindor house, with seven hundred fifty points.” Applause came from Gryffindor table.  
  
“And our winner this year is Hufflepuff house, with a grand total of nine hundred seventy points.” Loud cheers and applause came from Hufflepuff table. Ori looked pleased. “But, before our congratulatory desserts are brought out, which I am sure all of you are patiently waiting for, I have a few words to say.”  
  
Gandalf looked around the room, as if he was checking if everyone was truly silent. “I would like to congratulate a few students. I am sure you will not mind waiting for your pies a few minutes more.  
  
“Firstly, to Ori, son of Glori.” Gandalf said, all eyes turning to the redheaded boy of Hufflepuff. “For the recognition of true bravery and cleverness, especially in the face of mortal danger, proving himself to be a true Wizard. I award Hufflepuff house fifty points.”  
  
“Extra points?” Bofur asked Bilbo. “But they’ve already won!”  
  
“Secondly, to Bofur, son of Tarvem.” Bofur suddenly went bright red. “For true companionship and strategy, as well as the best game of Creatures Chess this school has ever seen played. I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”  
  
Commotion sounded from the Gryffindor table. No one was sure how Gandalf could be awarding extra points after the year was done.  
  
“And lastly, to Bilbo Baggins. For pure bravery, and amazing strength in the face of his enemies, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.” Gandalf was smiling.  
  
“We’ve nearly won!” Ruiwen announced, having calculated the points up in their head quickly.  
  
“But, there is one last student who I wish to congratulate.” Gandalf said. “To Bombur, son of Tarvem.”  
  
All eyes turned to Bombur, who was still chewing on the leg of a cooked bird. He stopped, looking incredibly embarassed. “It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to our enemies. But even more is required to stand up to our friends, and for what we believe is right. I award Gryffindor house ten points.”  
  
The Great Hall erupted in joy. Even Hufflepuff, although confused as to how they’d been overtaken at the last moment, celebrated. Hats were thrown, cheers were sounded, and even the teachers were applauding. Bilbo felt amazing. He saw Fili and Kili hoisting Bombur up onto their shoulders, chanting “We won! We won!”. Ori was being hugged by various members of Hufflepuff, and Godelina and Aldreda were congratulating Bofur by waving his hat around. Professor Elrond smiled, the first time Bilbo believed he’d ever seen him do so, and Thranduil appeared to not care at all, staring at his empty plate until it was all over.  
  
No one stopped cheering as they continued to eat desserts and pastries, students abandoning their house tables to sit with their friends and whoever they pleased. Bilbo was hailed as a hero, this time for something he was proud of. It felt like a grand party, the best night of Bilbo’s life, as he was surrounded by all his friends. It was better than winning a Quidditch game, or anything he’d felt at the beginning of the year. He felt amazing, he really did. He never wanted any of this to end, not now, not next year, not ever. It was the best he’d felt in a long time.

  


But, he woke the next morning. He left the dormitory, bare as it had ever been, no sign that he’d ever been there at all. He dragged his cauldron down to the front door, and out of the castle. As he crossed over the bridge, he took his last look into the valley below. Flowers bloomed in all colours, trees stood tall and mighty, and Bilbo thought he saw someone look out at him from behind a hedge. It was the brightest and most beautiful he’d ever seen it be.  
  
As he walked down to the boathouse, he took his last look at the castle. He remembered how stunning it had looked on the very first night he’d seen it. He remembered how nervous and excited he’d been. Now, it no longer made him nervous. He waved goodbye to it, and climbed into a coat along with Bofur and Ori.  
  
They rowed across the lake, and onto the other side, where the carts were waiting for them. Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori shared a cart on the way home, Mithril fluttering around inside, Bofur whistling to him to try and get the raven to stay in place. They bought sweets from the trolley, Bilbo getting yet another wizard card with Gandalf on it, Ori spitting up a dirt flavoured Every-Flavour Bean. Bilbo stuck his head out of the cart, marvelling at the beautiful lands they passed by, as the day went on and began to dim into night. They talked for so long about so many things, that by the time the carts stopped, Bilbo did not even remember what he was supposed to do.  
  
“I suppose I’ll see you two next year.” he said, picking up his cauldron and calling Mithril to perch on his shoulder.  
  
“You’d better write, too.” Bofur said. “Dís’ll probably have me doing chores all summer.”  
  
“I haven’t got much better to do.” Ori said. “I’ll make sure you both get ravens every week!”  
  
As they stepped off the carts into Oakenmond station, Bilbo saw Dís along with Fili and Kili approaching them. “How was it, boys?” she asked them, hugging Bofur and Bombur tightly.  
  
“Great.” Bilbo said, truly meaning it. “No one blew up any toilets.”  
  
Just then, he heard a cough come from behind him. Aunt Lobelia had arrived, wearing one of her yellow frocks and sunhat. She was looking around with caution, as if anything here could jump out and attack her any second. “Took you long enough.” she said gruffly.  
  
“Hi, Aunt Lobelia. I don’t think you’ve met my friends yet.” Bilbo said to her, a pleased expression on his face in contrast to hers of disgust. “This is Bofur, and this is Ori. They’re Dwarves. Have you met a Dwarf before?”  
  
Lobelia did not answer. Instead, he grabbed his cauldron from him. “You didn’t get into too much trouble, now, did you?”  
  
“Oh, no trouble at all.” Bofur said, smirking.  
  
“Well, we’ve got to get going. I have a garden party next weekend. You’re going to help me set up. The fence has all but rusted without you here.” Lobelia said, nodding to Bilbo as his cue to go.  
  
“Have a good summer.” Ori said as his goodbye. “Or, at least as good a summer you can have with…whatever that is.”  
  
“Thanks, but…” Bilbo said, tucking his wand into his pocket.  
  
“I think I’ll manage just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow.....it's over...? Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this. This has been the longest thing I've ever written, and it's only my third completed work! I really don't know how I managed to do it. I'll do a final check and edit when I get back from the summer. It's been great fun, and hard work at times. I'm not too sure what I'm gonna do now. Stay tuned for something new...!  
> Thanks so much for reading 'Bilbo Baggins and the Arkenstone', leave a comment or some kudos if you liked it! Check out my tumblr (starchilling), and read some of my other works in the meantime, if you want. Good night.


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